Witch Hunting
by Kittenshift17
Summary: On All Hallow's Eve pagan rite must be observed. Older than muggle hunting, the Witch Hunt is a time honoured tradition with one goal in mind. Binding witches and wizards for eternity. There's just one little problem, if you want to catch your witch, you've got to run her down. And just as the fox runs from the baying hounds, these witches are going to put up a fight for freedom.
1. Prologue

**A/N: The DEE prompts are responsible for this. I'm not even sorry. I can't wait to see what y'all make of this fic. Warnings for dub-con, non-con, kidnapping, violence, and smut.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

He came for her late in the evening the day before Samhain, creeping close with silent steps and it was too late for her by the time she noticed his presence.

"It's time, Alecto," Amycus Carrow murmured softly to his twin.

Alecto pulled her wand, dropping her book and aiming the weapon at him as she leaped to her feet, slowly backing away.

"Don't be like that, darlin'." He shook his head at her, holding up empty hands to show that he was unarmed.

"I won't do it," she told him fiercely.

Amycus's mouth twisted into an ugly expression and Alecto knew he didn't really want to make her do it, but he didn't have a choice. Neither did she, she knew. Not really. She'd fallen prey to tradition and wretched obsession. For once, not her own.

"Don't make me force you, Allie," Amycus whispered, his eyes sad. "You know you must. It's tradition. It's a rite of passage. And you've remained unwed long enough."

Alecto bared her teeth at him like a mongrel, pointing her wand at her twin. She was loath to hurt him, but she would if he pushed her.

"Pretend you never found me," she whispered back. "Pretend you came home tonight, seeking me, and all you found was a note. I'll flee. I'll escape to the continent and blend in until this all blows over."

Amycus looked even sadder.

"You always knew this day would come, sweet sister," he said gently. "Don't fight it. Don't make things hard for yourself. Come with me willingly and it won't be so bad for you."

Alecto's heart raced with fear.

"What was the point of taking the mark if I'll still be forced into this?" she demanded, her fingers twitching for the ugly brand on her forearm, identical to the one her brother wore.

"I told you when you volunteered that it would be for naught." Amycus shrugged. "Now, enough games, Alecto. You know he will not be pleased if you make a fuss."

Alecto's blood ran cold at the mention of _him_.

The one who'd insisted on her inclusion in this farce of a pagan rite that dated back to the days before muggle hunting had been outlawed. Scarier than her father, or even the Dark Lord, he was the man of her nightmares and the star in her dizziest daydreams. He terrified her as much as he tantalized her and the idea that on all Hallow's Eve, he would hunt her, made her whole-body tremble with a maddening mixture of fear and desire. It poisoned her blood and dampened her knickers.

Antonin Dolohov.

The man who planned to hunt her.

"Brother… please…" Alecto said, her sense of self-preservation outweighing her desire to be caught in the Russian wizard's terrible embrace.

Amycus closed his eyes against her pathetic plea and Alecto screamed when, from behind her, strong arms belted around her slim frame, clamping down on her and forcing her wand-tip toward the floor. She writhed, her heart racing, her limbs flailing, desperately seeking release.

"Come on, darlin'," Amycus reasoned. "Don't fight it. It's tradition. Just like Mam."

Alecto screamed again, beyond reason now, writhing in her father's arms and glaring her betrayal and her hatred at her twin brother to know that he'd been the distraction. The Judas. The snake in the grass. She should've known better than to trust him. She'd lost faith in her brother long ago, back when they'd just been children.

"Brother… please…" she rasped again when her father's hand closed over her throat, cutting off her screams as he denied her precious oxygen.

Amycus looked away, his eyes glittering with pain and fear for her. Alecto opened her mouth, intent on cursing him to the deepest pits of hell. Before he could the solid blow of her father's fist to the back of her head stole her consciousness, and her last thought was that tomorrow night's Hunt wouldn't be through until she'd drawn a little blood for her own.


	2. Chapter 1

**PREFACE:** The characterisation of Antonin Dolohov as a Russian, and the characterisation portraying Alecto Carrow and Antonin Dolohov as an unhealthily obsessed with each other is the intellectual property of Canimal, author of "The Dark Mage's Captive." I write them this way with her full knowledge and permission.

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

Deranged cackling was the music that dragged her into consciousness and the curly-haired witch groaned against the dull throbbing ache in the base of her skull. She blinked blearily, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Sprawled on the floor of a dank cellar, Hermione Granger hissed as she realized the laughter came from Bellatrix Lestrange where the bitch loomed over her, rotten teeth on display as she screeched manically.

"Wakey, wakey!" Bellatrix shouted shrilly, and Hermione dragged her broken body into a sitting position, trying to make sense of this strange reality.

"Where am I?" she asked of no one in particular, blinking in the dark when she realized she wasn't alone. At least a dozen witches lay prone upon the floor surrounding her, many of them in similar, or even worse states than herself.

"You've awoken in one of your darkest nightmares," a low, husky voice came from behind her and Hermione spun, her hand fumbling for her wand only to find she was without it.

A dark-haired woman leaned against the wall behind Hermione, her dark eyes glittering in the torchlight. Hermione narrowed her eyes on the other witch, trying to place her face. A scan over her reclined form drew her gaze to the Dark Mark branded into the woman's arm, and to the faint, finger-shaped bruises around her delicate throat.

"Carrow?" Hermione asked, frowning in confusion. "Are you… are we all prisoners?"

Carrow's laugh was cold and detached, as unkind as it was unsettling.

"I wonder which poor soul's going to run you down, Granger," the witch sneered. "Pity the poor bastard who's been matched to a mudblood like you."

"As opposed to such a delightful specimen as yourself?" Hermione retorted instinctively before recalling that she was somehow sitting in a prison cell despite having no memory of even being captured.

"Still got some fire in you?" Alecto Carrow huffed, looking amused, those dark eyes assessing her carefully. "Better save your strength, Granger. It'll be a long, hard night for you."

"What is this? Why have I been captured?" Hermione demanded. "And why are you here, instead of out there with that barmy cow?"

She nodded in the direction of Bellatrix, where she was still cackling from beyond the bars of what appeared to be a cell.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Carrow asked, tipping her head to one side and smirking cruelly, looking intrigued. "I could've sworn they told me you were intelligent."

Hermione scowled at the other witch, crawling toward her in the dark and leaning against the wall in the small space next to the Death Eater. She didn't know why, given that the other woman wore a Dark Mark, but she felt a strange camaraderie with the witch.

"It's All Hallow's Eve," Carrow told her when Hermione simply sat there, waiting to be given the answer, having not the foggiest of why she'd been taken prisoner alongside a Death Eater. "It's a Witch Hunt, Granger."

"A Witch Hunt?" Hermione asked, paling. "As in, pursued through the streets and burned at the stake?"

"We're not muggle-hunting," Carrow scoffed, glancing at her. "It's a Witch Hunt. The pagan rite. A festival of betrothal."

"Betrothal?" Hermione hissed.

"Ready to run, little mudblood?" Bellatrix sneered from beyond the bars.

Hermione glared at her, watching the woman flick her wand at another witch on the ground with long blonde hair.

"Luna?" Hermione gasped, reaching for the girl.

"Hermione?" Luna asked. "Oh no, did they get you too?"

"Carrow, what the bleeding hell is going on?" Hermione demanded, helping Luna sit up and intertwining her fingers with those of the younger witch.

Alecto Carrow laughed coldly again.

"I already told you, Granger. We're the prize in the witch hunt," Alecto said.

"A witch hunt?" Luna asked, her usually vague tone sharpening at the mention. "As in… oh, dear."

"Your little friend gets it," Carrow said.

"A witch hunt is a pagan rite, Hermione," Luna told her quietly. "In past years, on Samhain, a collection of young, unmarried witches was rounded up and matched to unattached wizards. We girls are taken prisoner since we usually haven't agreed to the match and aren't even aware we've been matched up with anyone to begin with, while the men are forced to drink fermented pumpkin juice, which makes them mad with lust. We'll be set loose at moonrise and told to run into the forest. Usually witches are given the sporting chance of a minor head start before the wizards are unleashed. They will run us down and lay claim to our bodies, wrestling us into submission. Usually, for the sake of the Rite, each wizard has a wedding band on his person and if he manages to wrestle one onto the finger of a witch whilst pleasuring her, the two are bound."

"That's barbaric!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. She opened and closed her mouth in horror, trying to form a coherent and fittingly furious argument against such treatment, but finding herself entirely too horrified.

"That's how all marriages used to be decided," Carrow corrected her snidely. "My mother ran in a Witch Hunt."

Hermione blinked, looking sideways at the Death Eater and shaking her head slowly from side to side, wondering if she'd chosen to run in the hunt. Was this something witches and wizards regularly signed up for? She'd never even heard of it until now. It couldn't only be a pureblood tradition, since she'd been hauled into the cell alongside everyone else.

"Is that why you're here?" Hermione asked nosily. "People actually volunteer for this kind of barbarism?"

Carrow scoffed.

"Oh, I didn't volunteer. Why do you think I'm sitting in this wretched cell next to you?" she asked. "I was kidnapped, same as you. The only difference is, I know who my kidnappers were, and I know whom it is I'll be running from when we're set loose."

"Who?" Luna asked.

Carrow's lips twisted unhappily before she answered. "Dolohov," she breathed.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed thoughtlessly, her relief evident when she hadn't yet known she was even worried about being foisted off on Dolohov. "Better you than me!"

"Oh, well that's friendly," Alecto laughed, more amused than offended.

"I'm sorry, was there something about you calling me a mudblood and you being a Death Eater that lends itself to friendship between us?" Hermione asked mildly, smirking just a bit. She could hardly claim friendship with the witch, even if she did feel a mild camaraderie with her.

"Merlin, I pity whomever drew you."

"They draw us?" Hermione asked, frowning, needing to know more about the ritual and just why she'd been snatched from… where had she been? Grimmauld Place? The Burrow? Hermione blinked slowly, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall how she'd been caught in the first place. Were Harry and Ron out there somewhere, worried sick about her?

"There's a scepter," said Alecto, oblivious to Hermione's spinning thoughts. "A bit like the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts, it reads the wizard's soul when held, and a name is chosen from the man's psyche as being someone his soul has recognized as it's equal. The wizards don't get to find out who they're matched to until the race begins. They're as in the dark as us, though most of the time they sign up for this. You two will find out just who it is you're matched with when someone tackles you out there in the forest, intent on fucking you stupid."

"Then how do you know you're going to be hunted by Dolohov?" Hermione demanded, utterly baffled. "You can't possibly be certain that this potentially mythical scepter has landed on you as Dolohov's… what? Soul mate? Is that the idea? This sounds very barbaric. And the kidnapping surely hints that this amounts to rape. You do know that, don't you? Being run down like a fox by hounds and then forced into coitus is rape, no matter what pretty ritual you dress it up as."

Carrow snorted.

"And you're _fun_ , too," she smirked wickedly, glancing sideways at Hermione. "I bet you're paired with someone who likes to argue. Hmmm… Whom among my brethren likes to… Oh!"

Suddenly Carrow laughed and Hermione's insides twisted with dread.

"You think you know who I might be matched with?" she asked in a low voice.

"I could take a guess. When I saw you, I almost hoped that you'd been matched to Antonin, what with his silly little obsession with you after that mess in the Department of Mysteries. But then I remembered that if that was the case, I wouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Luna challenged. "Maybe someone else is matched up with you."

"There's no one else. Scepter and ritual or not, no one else would dare," Alecto shook her head. "When the moon rises, that Russian bastard is going to run me down and crawl between my legs as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow."

"Who do you think I'm matched with?" Hermione demanded, queasy with her dread.

"I'm not about to tell you, mudblood. You can figure that one out on your own. It won't take long. To make things easier we'll all be given our cloaks, and he'll know you by the colour you wear. He'll be wearing one to match."

"There are cloaks involved not, too?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Mudbloods are so sheltered," Carrow sighed, leaning her head back against the stone wall of their cell and closing her eyes as though merely talking to the two of them had wearied her.

"It's a ceremony, Hermione," Luna took pity on her, explaining. "The Witch Hunt begins with the scepter. All the eligible young men are rounded up, they hold the scepter, and their match is determined. On All Hallow's Eve, they're given fermented pumpkin juice to drink and they're cloaked in cloth woven from pure magic – Daddy once told me that it was made of mermaid hair – but I saw the mermaids in the lake once and they didn't have very nice hair. It wouldn't make very good material for a cloak... Each one is dyed a separate color. You will be given one, just as he will be given one. Your two will match. It's to make it easier for the wizard to pinpoint his target."

"I don't want to be a target," Hermione protested.

Carrow snorted out a laugh but didn't open her eyes.

"It's a little late for that, Hermione," Luna said softly. "The magic of the ritual determines that you're fated to the wizard you're matched with. When the moon rises, we'll all be given our cloaks and set loose. We run, and they run after us. You can put up a fight. There are no rules to the ritual once the Hunt begins. They hunt us all down and they wrestle us to the ground. They'll be out of their minds with lust until the sun rises, and they'll all be trying to work rings onto the fingers of their matched witch."

"Who in Merlin's name even thought this up?" Hermione demanded. "This is madness! They kidnap witches. They force them into a race where they've got to run for their lives and their virtue, and then those witches are summarily raped and given a wedding ring? That's what you're telling me? Because some stick told them to? This is ridiculous."

"They don't have to fuck you," Carrow said. "Some don't. The fermented pumpkin juice is administered to make them out of their minds horny because back in the days before the Hunt was outlawed, some folks used to be displeased about whomever they were matched with. They used to kill each other if they weren't interested in marrying. The thing about finding your soul-match is that there's no guarantee you'll like the bloke."

"Since I suspect this is a Death Eater exclusive event, I hardly think I'm going to like the bloke," Hermione huffed. "We're expected to let them run us down? What if we don't run?"

"You'll run," Bellatrix Lestrange interrupted from outside the cell, her cackling finally ceasing. "Trust me, Mudblood. The running is half the fun. Gets your heart racing, the adrenaline rushing, the fear poisoning your limbs. When your husband catches you, you'll fight. You'll fight as though your life depends on it – as well, you should. When he finally pins you down and thrusts inside you, you'll scream out your defiance and your defeat and your bond will be struck. Before dawn he'll have a ring on your finger and he might've even fucked a brat into your belly."

She smirked wickedly, looking utterly enthralled, as though she was excited for it.

"Bella's marriage was struck through a Witch Hunt," Carrow told them with the terrible woman began to hum a little tune to herself, her fingers pinching her nipples through her dress. "Rodolphus ran her down. She's running again tonight. So's Narcissa. I'm told it's addictive. There hasn't been a hunt in a long time, but those who participate are never the same. It's a fight for your life and the prize is a soulmate you might not necessarily want. But look at her. She wants it. She _loathes_ her husband with a fiery passion, but tonight she'll welcome him between her legs and she'll scream with joy when he claims her all over again."

Hermione shook her head, her stomach clenched with dread even as the first little pinpricks of pity wormed their way through her.

"You loathe Dolohov, too?" Hermione asked of the Death Eater.

Alecto opened her eyes.

"I despise him," she said. "And yet I crave him, too. I'd gleefully stab him with a million little knives, but I know I'd let him stab me with his cock in return. It's a terrible thing to know the identity of your soulmate. There's nothing romantic about it, like your muggles like to believe. There's nothing happy about finding someone who is your match. You will have your similarities and your differences, to be sure. You'll like and loathe one another. You'll rue their existence and pine at the thought of being parted. After all, once you know, that's it. There's no taking it back, no finding someone else who doesn't make you want to peel their face off every single day. You're stuck for life."

"Then why on earth would anyone sign up for it?" Hermione wanted to know.

Here, Bellatrix began to cackle again, and Alecto gave a short laugh, too.

"You think they had any more choice than you?" Alecto asked. "Antonin might be obsessed with me, but he doesn't _want_ to tie himself to me, and he knows I don't want to tie myself to him."

"Then why?"

"The Dark Lord commands it," Alecto said softly.

Hermione felt ill and she felt Luna squeeze her hand reassuringly, as though to offer some small sense of comfort. The only comfort Hermione found was confirming that Luna was even alive. She took no pleasure from knowing the poor girl had been dragged into this alongside her, and she couldn't stand the thought of what she was about to endure.

"I won't do it," she said bitterly, gritting her teeth at the urge she had to cry in her terror at the thought of being run down and raped in short order.

"You will," Carrow murmured. "We all will."

Hermione shook her head, looking at Luna and expecting solidarity and stubbornness to gleam in her blue eyes. Her heart sank with terror when instead, she found Luna's eyes filled with quiet acceptance and resignation, mingled with just a sparkle of pity.


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: Orias Mulciber, the characterisation for the canon character 'Mulciber', mentioned in this chapter is the brain-child of Freya Ishtar. I use him with her full knowledge and permission.**

* * *

 **RECOMMENDATION: If you haven't yet, you really must head over and check out Freya's new Thormione fic, "One Bloody Fairytale". I also cannot recommend enough that you all head over and throw some love at Canimal's "Love Me...Or Leave Me Alone." Both are amazing and you will not be disappointed.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

"Tastes fucking awful!" Rabastan Lestrange exclaimed after the first mouthful of fermented pumpkin juice. Thorfinn Rowle was inclined to agree. It tasted the way he imagined boiled hag mucus might. Shuddering at the wretched flavor, he pinched his nose and skolled what remained in his goblet, knowing this would be a nightmare unless he was rip-roaring drunk.

"Worse than goblin piss!" he cursed when he'd downed it in one.

Beside him, Dolohov grunted and copied his actions, swallowing the concoction quickly and looking like he had to fight to keep from spewing it all back up.

"Nervous?" Antonin asked, glancing at him.

Thorfinn eyed the older wizard for a long moment as Lucius Malfoy began moving through the group, handing out their cloaks.

"Not all of us have the privilege of knowing who we're hunting, mate," he said, shrugging his massive shoulders and stretching his neck each way until it popped.

"Wouldn't call it a privilege," Dolohov grumbled.

"She's smarter and prettier than you let yourself see, you know?" Thorfinn told him, raising one eyebrow. "She's not her fuckwit brother. Smart enough to know to run like hell from you, anyway."

Antonin curled his lip and looked away, no more thrilled at the idea of being forced to run down Alecto Carrow than Thorfinn was at being forced into this ridiculous ritual. The Dark Lord could go suck a hag's clit, for all he cared. This was fucking bollocks. He didn't want to be matched to anyone, and he didn't fucking like not having the faintest clue of who it was he'd be running down in just a few minutes.

"And yours?" Antonin asked. "We will see if you're so interested in listing the fine qualities of my match when you wake up tomorrow with your cock buried in a witch of your own – the last one you'll ever fuck."

Thorfinn shuddered at the very idea. He wasn't a man made for fidelity. He had a whole lot of cock to share around and enough good looks to make just about any witch spread her thighs for him. He didn't fancy having to put his rakish days behind him for the sake of some bitch he didn't even know.

"At least you know who she is," Thorfinn shrugged. "You know where her loyalties lie. It'd be my luck I'll end up with a mudblood or a muggle-lover."

Dolohov smirked at him.

"Alright, lads," Rabastan stumbled over, the kick of the fermented pumpkin juice obviously hitting him hard from the way his pupils were blown wide and the way he'd begun to fidget. "Here's the deal. First man to nail his bird get bragging rights, and free reign of the cellars at Lestrange Chateaux."

"You would so willingly part with your stores?" Dolohov asked, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Rabastan scoffed. "As if Allie's going to lay down and spread her legs for you? Mate, if you've still got both eyes by sun-up, I'll shout you a bottle of vodka."

"You already owe me three bottles," Antonin reminded him.

"Well, keep both eyes and I'll owe you four," Rabastan sneered. "No way that pretty little hell-cat will let you fuck her full of Russian bastards. She'll shove your ring up your arse and hex your bollocks off first."

Antonin rolled his eyes, though the gleam in the dark slits made Thorfinn shudder. He'd seen the bastard wear that gleam only a few times before, and every time he'd seen it, things had gotten ugly. And messy. Antonin Dolohov had all the fiery fury and wicked curiosity of a Kamchatka grizzly and he was as ruthless with his blows that cleaved flesh from bone, too.

"And you, Lestrange?" Thorfinn asked. "Who's your match going to be?"

"Not a fucking clue, mate," Rabastan shook his head. "Hope she's feisty, though. And pretty. Maybe a blonde. I like blondes."

He trailed off, his hand slipping into his pocket where Thorfinn knew he carried the ceremonial betrothal band he'd be trying to force on some witch's finger in short order. The ring in his own pocket felt heavy, burning a hole in his thigh for the want to slip away and be lost in the grass that bordered the forest on the grounds of the Malfoy estate. He began to fidget, feeling the tingling of the fermented pumpkin juice beginning to fizz in his blood, making him restless.

"Alright, gentlemen," Lucius Malfoy called for their attention as Thorfinn was handed a cape of the brightest crimson. Oh, that didn't bode well at all. "In just a few minutes, your Hunt will begin. You all know our laws. That is to say, this is a Witch Hunt and there _are_ no rules!"

Around him some of the wizards cheered and Thorfinn clenched his fist around his wand, side-eyeing the likes of Amycus Carrow and Orias Mulciber, just daring them to try and steal his witch out from under him.

"The only objective is to run down your witch, fuck her into submission, and get your ring wrapped around her dainty finger," Lucius went on, fastening a cloak of brilliant white, like freshly fallen snow, about his own shoulders. Thorfinn wasn't surprised to learn that even the married Death Eaters would be running down their wives in the Witch Hunt.

He'd heard that Lucius and Narcissa had been joined in a Witch Hunt, and that even Rodolphus and Bella were a Hunt Pair.

"Ready to run?" Antonin asked him quietly and Thorfinn looked over at the man who'd been slowly worming his way under Thorfinn's skin. Dolohov was a cold, cruel bastard, at least thirty years older than him, but they'd struck an interesting friendship with the rise of the Dark Lord that blurred somewhere between best-mates and father-son, though they were of no relation.

"I'd rather just go out and find a nice, willing bird to fuck stupid," Thorfinn admitted.

"Wouldn't we all?" Antonin sighed. "This is it, _ditya_. By dawn that demon will be my wife."

Thorfinn shook his head, amused.

"Why did you wait?" he asked quietly. "You've known that you and she were paired for months – years, even. Why hold off when you're fated?"

"You have met her, no?" Antonin asked, his Russian accent thick with dark amusement.

"Mad as a cut snake," Thorfinn nodded. "But the barmy ones are the best fucks, you know?"

Antonin's lips twisted and Thorfinn suspected the man knew that. A little known fact in the wizarding world was that outside of a Hunt and the scepter ordaining who was fated, sometimes kismet happened just the same. Some people found their soul-match all on their own when they fucked. Antonin had fucked Alecto, that was how he knew they were matched, and he'd been torn somewhere between obsessed and horrified ever since.

"When you catch your match tonight, and when the sun rises tomorrow, and you stop thinking with your cock, I will ask you if you understand why I've held off on making the _psikh_ witch mine."

"You think I'll be with someone wretched?" Thorfinn asked, nervousness beginning to gnaw at his guts.

Antonin glanced sideways at him, his lips twisted into an evil grin.

" _Ditya_ , tell me what similarities you see between me and Alecto," he said quietly.

"Both barmy," Thorfinn shrugged. "Both intense. Fucking scary, if I'm honest. You're twisted mate, and she's just as messed up."

"The very worst things in us both are our commonalities, no?" Antonin asked.

Thorfinn's stomach dropped.

"You think that my match will have the same terrible qualities as me?"

"She will be prone to fury," Antonin murmured. "Unafraid to get in your face, uncowed by your temper. Hers will be more formidable than yours, Thorfinn. The reason they call it a soul-match, rather than describing it as soulmates, is because it is not a friendship of two souls, but a match. You are a pair. Identical in almost every way, but for the circumstances that made you who you are. Your witch will be passionate, furious, clever, and terrible in her anger. As you are. Finding your match is not romantic or happy, Thorfinn. They are your equal in every way, the good and the bad. The very worst things about yourself, those things you loathe about your own personality are qualities that she, too, will possess. Those things you like about yourself, she, too, will possess. Look at Rod and Bella. She loathes him, most days, for though they seem so very different, they are the same. She _knows_ he has the capacity to be as terrible and capricious and vicious as her, but he chooses not to let that side of him rule his every thought. She loathes his weakness and his joviality because they are things she, too, possesses, and things she cannot stand about herself."

"He loves her," Thorfinn pointed out, eyeing Rodolphus where he stood across the gathered group, silently fastening a cloak of the deepest onyx about his shoulders.

"Does he?" Antonin asked, eyeing him too. "Or does he merely accept that everything about her is everything about him, too. Has he simply resigned himself to this fate, stuck with a psychotic bitch who is everything he tries so hard not to be?"

"Bloody hell, you two are fucking depressing," Rabastan declared, lobbing an empty goblet in their direction as he fastened a periwinkle cloak about his shoulders, looking utterly ridiculous.

"Eat me, Bass," Thorfinn retorted.

"Like that, wouldn't you?" Rabastan smirked. "I'm ready to run, mate. So ready to run. Going to get me my fucking witch and suffer like old Roddy does, eh? It's gonna be fucking great."

"You're excited for your match?" Antonin asked, looking alarmed.

"Course I am," Rabastan nodded. "She's my match, eh. And I'm fuckin' perfect, so I reckon she will be, too. Fuck, that pumpkin juice is fuckin' me up, man. Twisting me up in knots. Feel like my dick's gonna explode, too."

"Why do you overshare?" Thorfinn asked, making a face, though his own cock had begun stirring with the thoughts of being buried inside his fated match.

"You love me, Finn," Rabastan told him. "You love hearin' about my cock. Reckon you'd love meeting it, too. Pity you're so bloody built, or I reckon I could have some fun tangling my hands in all that blond hair of yours."

"Try it, mate," Thorfinn challenged, only too willing to pummel his friend if he got grabby. The bastard had a thing about blond hair. Kinky fucker.

"If we're all ready?" Lucius drawled when everyone had their cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. "I can see my lovely wife in the distance, meaning the ladies are prepped and ready to run. Every man for himself, boys. May the best wizard win."

There was a roar from the gathered wizards, and Thorfinn roared along with them as Lucius fired a spell from his wand, signifying the beginning of the Hunt as the magic was activated and the ritual began. Narrowing his eyes as the witches began to run, streaks of colour glowing and glittering against the dark landscape below, Thorfinn scanned for any hint of crimson, his eyes narrowing in on the colour as a petite witch raced for the woods, running like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

A wild shout of fury and challenge bellowed from his lungs and he tore after her, his world narrowing to just the swish and sway of that crimson cape in the distance, and the heavy pull of the ring in his pocket and the thud of his pulse in his ears. He knew in that moment that whoever she was, he would run her down and make her his witch, no matter the cost.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Mwhahahahaha! Happy Christmas, everyone!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

Hermione was certain she'd never ingested anything fouler than whatever the concoction was that Bellatrix had forced on her before she'd been set loose and instructed to run. She could feel it sloshing about inside her as she raced into the dark forest, the crimson cloak swinging from her shoulders and brushing her bare ankles enticingly. All around her, the other witches ran, too, and a bellow of fury in the distance caused her to look back.

There, on the hill in the distance, wizards were racing down the slope in their direction. Hermione couldn't see far enough in the low light to figure out which one of them bore a crimson cloak identical to the one wrapped around her own shoulders. She would've been tempted to rip the wretched thing from her own shoulders were it not for the fact that, to avoid having her do just that, Bellatrix and the others had stripped her and the other runners of their clothing. She was as naked as the day she'd been born, but for the cloak, and the icy bite of the wind ensured she wouldn't be parting with the cloak any time soon, if she could help it.

"Hermione, run!" Luna gasped from beside her and Hermione glanced toward the little blonde witch running parallel to her, gasping for breath as she was.

"Don't stop, Luna," Hermione encouraged, already forming a stitch in her side, unaccustomed to running in the cold and the dark. It was by luck alone that she'd yet to put her foot in a rabbit hole, or trip over a tree root.

"I have to," Luna gasped. "It hurts to run. I think my ribs are broken."

Hermione winced.

"I'll heal them," Hermione said. She'd been given back her wand, but she'd already tried apparating to freedom to no avail. The property was obviously warded against apparition, and so that route for escape had been cut off. It looked like the only way she'd be getting free would be if she was captured and someone forced a wedding ring onto her finger, or if she managed to evade capture long enough to find a way off the property on foot.

"You can't," Luna puffed. "Then we'll both be caught. Leave me be, Hermione. I think I know who I was matched to. I'll be okay."

"I'm not leaving you, Luna," Hermione said, taking the blonde girl's hand and tugging her sharply behind the trunk of a nearby Angel Oak tree.

"You need to go, Hermione," Luna protested when Hermione shoved her against the tree and aimed her wand.

" _Episky_ ," she said, her heart racing in her chest.

Luna moaned as her ribs clicked, knitting the bones back together.

"Now, run," Hermione said. "Otherwise we'll both end up raped and forced into marriage with Death Eaters."

Luna didn't protest when Hermione pulled on her arm, dragging her through the forest.

"They're catching up," Luna said, listening to shouts as trees in their wake were set ablaze to better light up the night.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, watching as Fenrir Greyback, running on all fours, leaped at a witch out of the night, tackling her to the ground in a tangle of limbs to a soundtrack of screams escaping the girl Hermione vaguely recognized as a Ravenclaw witch from Fred and George's year at Hogwarts. She winced when he pinned the girl under him, lying on her face in the dirt before he buried his teeth in the top of her left shoulder, marking her in the traditional werewolf way, rather than bothering with a ring.

"They'll never take me alive," Hermione growled, running faster. She leapt over tree roots, dodging around trees and boulders.

"YOU!" an angry voice shouted from behind her.

"Oh, goddess, Hermione," Luna squealed. "Run!"

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Luna diverting from the path Hermione was taking, running around the far side of a big rock, her periwinkle cloak glittering in the glow from someone's _Lumos Solem_ charm just before she disappeared. Hermione's heart stuttered out an uneven beat inside her chest when a dark-haired wizard gave a little crow of delight, dashing after Luna, his own cloak of periwinkle gleaming, before he, too, disappeared from view.

"Luna!" Hermione shouted as she rounded the boulder.

She spied Luna a way ahead of her, having taken a more direct route. The wizard was gaining on her, and he was laughing wickedly, catcalling to her, apparently familiar with the blonde witch that had been held prisoner for so long by the Death Eaters.

"You're mine, witch!" a voice came from behind her as she leaped a fallen log and Hermione looked back on the landing, her eyes widening in horror when the hulking shape of an enormous wizard met her gaze from the other side of the log.

"You'll never catch me," Hermione vowed when she spied the rich crimson of the cloak swinging from his broad shoulders.

"Oh, I will, Princess," he snarled, leaping the log.

Hermione knew in an instant that she'd never be able to outrun him. His legs were much longer than hers, and she wasn't a strong runner to begin with.

Dashing for a clearing between the trees she spied in the distance, Hermione flicked her wand when she reached it, creating a ring of fire to hold him off. He skidded to a stop just on the far side of it, reeling back when the flames leaped high, ready to devour him should he come too close. Narrowing her eyes on him, Hermione squinted through the flames, trying to make out his features.

Thick blond hair hung to his shoulders and a golden-brown beard lined his strong jaw. Bright blue eyes were narrowed on her hatefully and the breath left Hermione's lungs in a screech of fury when she recognized him

"Thorfinn Rowle?"

His eyes widened in surprise when she flung a Stunning spell at him, though he dodged it quickly.

"Granger?" he asked, sounding incredulous and furious when he realized it was her.

"I'm never going to let you have me, Rowle," Hermione warned, hissing in fury when he twirled his wand, somehow extinguishing the ring of flames she'd cast in a single blow.

"I don't reckon I _want_ you, Princess," he sneered through the smoke that filled the dark.

Hermione ran. Flinging a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him, she laughed when it hit him, sending him sprawling while she ran for it.

She screamed when, only a few meters further into the forest, someone tackled her from the side. She went down in a tangle of limbs to a symphony of her own shriek and a rough Russian curse.

" _Lumos"_ the wizard snarled, flipping her to her back and pinning her with one arm as she writhed under him.

" _Stupefy_ ," Hermione snarled, trying to blast the Russian bastard off her.

"Granger?" Antonin Dolohov asked, frowning down at her as she struggled under him. He looked surprised to see that it was her, and Hermione realized that he'd mistaken her for Alecto Carrow, thanks to the short stature, slim build, and long dark hair she shared with the other woman.

"I'm not your witch, Dolohov," Hermione hissed. "Carrow went that way."

She jerked her chin in the direction of a thickly wooded area to her right.

"Of course, she did," Dolohov growled, narrowing his eyes hatefully when he looked in that direction and saw how dense the forest grew there, obviously knowing it would be a nightmare trying to track down his woman in the thick foliage. "And what color have you got, eh?"

"Oi, Dolohov, you bastard!" Rowle shouted. "Get off my witch and lift this fucking jinx, would you?"

"You and Rowle?" Dolohov asked, laughing wickedly, still pinning her and being sure to get an eyeful of her bared breasts while he was at it.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Hermione hissed, kicking him furiously.

"Better get in my taste of you now, then, hadn't I?" Dolohov sneered. "Before you're claimed, and I'm chained to that harpy."

Hermione squealed and clawed at his face when he darted down her body, still pinning her with one heavy hand on her chest. She tried to kick him when he used his knees to force her legs apart. She tried futilely to fight him off, trying to snap her legs shut, and Hermione screamed in furious protest when he laughed before ducking his face between them and dragging his tongue over her naked flesh.

" _Avada Kedavra,"_ Hermione snarled, jabbing her wand at him.

Dolohov laughed when the spell didn't do anything more than zap him, barely even making his hair crackle with it's power and certainly not strong enough to kill him.

"I'll kill you for this, you bastard," Hermione snarled furiously, writhing under him when he dipped his tongue inside of her. He hummed in appreciation for her taste, lapping at her like a dog at peanut butter and Hermione screamed in frustration, loathing that despite her revulsion, her body reacted favorably to the caress.

"Damn it, Toshka!" Rowle shouted. "You better not be putting your mouth on my witch, or I'll wring your neck, you fuckin' cunt!"

Hermione didn't know if she should be grateful or appalled that he was laughing as he said it. Dolohov licked his lips and grinned at her wickedly before latching onto Hermione's clit and sucking hard, making her writhe and drawing a ragged gasp from between her lips, unbidden.

"Just taste-testing her for you, _Ditya_ ," Dolohov drawled to Rowle when he let up on Hermione only after managing to drag a ragged moan from her.

"Bastard," Rowle snarled. "Go hunt your own psycho bitch."

" _Crucio_ ," Hermione hissed at the Russian still pinning her. She couldn't ever recall being so angry and Dolohov gasped when pain invaded his frame, making him shudder, gritting his teeth on the urge to scream.

"Get the fuck off me, you twisted, foul, wretched git!" Hermione demanded, kicking the sod angrily when he let up on his chokehold thanks to the power of her curse.

"You've got some Darkness in you, after all, eh _pchelka_?" Dolohov asked, his voice just the faintest bit strained.

Hermione bared her teeth, clawing him with her nails and drawing blood from his cheek.

"Toshka!" Rowle was still laughing and struggling, before throwing off the hex she'd hit him with and rolling to his feet. "She's mine, you git! Or she will be, just as soon as I kick the shit out of you and hunt her down again."

"Run, then," Dolohov laughed in Hermione's face when Thorfinn was on his feet. "Run, run, run, as fast as you can, little mudblood."

He rolled off her, still laughing despite the threats and despite the Cruciatus curse he'd endured under her wand. Hermione scurried to her feet, flinging another hex at him that he blocked, before firing one over her shoulder at Rowle, hoping to knock him out to better get away. Rowle was expecting it and blocked the hex with ease while Hermione darted away into the night, her fingers wiping at the unnerving wetness between her legs after the rough treatment.

She heard the dull crunch followed by a groan behind her and glanced back to see Rowle had punched Dolohov for tasting her.

"Paws off my witch, cunt," Rowle said.

"Going to claim your little mudblood, then?" Dolohov sneered, laughing barely phased by the blow or the curses Hermione had hit him with.

"Yes," Rowle vowed before springing after her. Hermione fired more hexes over her shoulder, putting on a burst of speed and dashing for the thickly wooded area to the right where she'd seen Carrow run, knowing Rowle would have a hard time squeezing his wide shoulders through the closely growing trees. She'd lost sight of Luna in the chaos, but Hermione didn't dare call for her, lest Rowle follow the sound of her voice.

Ducking between the trees, her small stature and slim build allowed her to slip between them easily. Hermione dashed away into the night, hoping against hope that if she could find somewhere to hide, she'd be able to evade Rowle until dawn and then make her escape. She'd prefer that to suffering the indignity of being bound to Thorfinn Rowle for the rest of her life. A more annoying and ruder wizard she was sure she'd never met, even after having endured Dolohov's lack of manners. The deeper she went into the woods, the thicker the canopy became and the harder it was to see. Eventually, Hermione had to slow her pace to a brisk walk, not daring to light her wand, lest Rowle see the light and follow her. She squinted in the dark and stumbled her way through the forest without direction other than to be pushing on away from the direction she'd come, hoping Rowle was struggling to find his way through the dark, too.

Hermione held her breath when she reached a spot where she couldn't see a thing at all, groping around until she found a tree to lean against, trying to catch her breath. She sighed softly, trying to forget the wicked feel of Dolohov's tongue between her legs and cursing the fact with that one, quick assault, he'd proven that, Death Eaters or not, the men hunting them all tonight were very real, and very much more interested in sex than murder.

She shuddered when the thought of Rowle doing the same thing occurred to her, her body tingling and making her think that whatever the foul concoction was that Lestrange had forced her to drink, it was laced with potent aphrodisiacs. Just before she could think to either touch herself, or to push on for a better place to hide, a voice hissed from the darkness and ropes shot out to constrict around her, tying her to the tree.

" _Incarcerous_!"


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **It's been too long, hasn't it? And on such a cliffhanger from the last chapter, too. Sorry about that. I can't wait to see what y'all make of this chapter. Hope you like it. Many thanks for all the love and reviews. Much love!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

Hermione writhed immediately, the ropes snaking their way around her and binding her to the tree.

"Who's there?" she hissed, not daring the shout, but utterly furious and more than a little terrified. "I swear to Merlin, if that's you, Rowle, I'll kill you. _Avada Kedavra!"_

"Granger?" a cool, feminine voice asked in surprise when the green light of her Killing Curse exploded from the end of her wand. It flew wide of her attacker.

"Carrow?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"What are you doing in here?" Carrow hissed, stomping closer.

Hermione couldn't see her, but she could feel it when the witch invaded her personal space, the heat of her body emanating against Hermione's. She loathed the feel of whatever had been in that drink making her want to press against so much delicious warmth.

"I'm running for Rowle, just as surely as you're running from Dolohov," Hermione told the other witch in a whispered.

"You know it's Thorfinn, then?" Alecto murmured. "Angry?"

"Furious," Hermione whispered. " _And_ Dolohov tackled me and proceeded to assault me while Rowle was trying to throw off my hexes."

"He fucked you?" Carrow asked in a tight voice.

"No," Hermione shook her head though she couldn't see the other woman's face. "He… licked me."

"Where?" Carrow asked.

"Where do you think?" Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Here?" Carrow asked and Hermione squeaked in surprise when cool fingers slid between the folds of her cloak and smoothed over her pussy.

"Yes," Hermione whispered tightly, trying to ignore the way her body tingled at the touch.

"He licked you out?" Carrow confirmed and Hermione bit her lip when the woman dipped a long finger inside of her. "Did he dip his tongue inside you like this?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "What are you doing?"

"Touching you," Carrow said, and Hermione felt the other woman's breasts brush against hers as she shrugged.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Can you untie me? Rowle was running after me, and Dolohov knows you came this way. We need to run."

"My soul-match licked you out," Carrow told her, and Hermione could hear the frown in her voice.

"Much to my protests," Hermione said, wondering if Carrow was jealous.

"I'm sure," Carrow agreed. "But he did it during the Hunt."

"Is that important?" Hermione asked.

"Mmmm," Carrow nodded. "Anyone you touch in a sexual manner during a Hunt is someone you bond with. Not in the same sense as if you fuck and the wizard gets his ring on your finger, but… You can fuck whoever you touch during a Hunt, even after the betrothal bonds sink in. And Dolohov touched you. He could do so any time, even after he's stuck with me, and you're stuck with Thorfinn. And I don't fancy the idea of my husband touching you if I don't get to touch you, too."

"Now you're trying to tell me you want to shag me?" Hermione asked. "I don't swing that way, Carrow."

"Neither do I, normally," Carrow said, working her finger in and out of Hermione's pussy, curling it wickedly and making Hermione's breath hitch.

Despite her claim, Hermione found her hips rocking, craving more friction.

"It's the fermented pumpkin juice," Carrow told her. "Makes us all horny. You know you want it right now, even from me."

"I… Gods," Hermione said, closing her eyes and wriggling, trying to get more friction, and trying to get free of the ropes binding her to the tree.

Carrow's laugh was low and wicked, and Hermione writhed against her ropes when the other witch slipped a second finger inside of her pussy, making her tremble needily.

"Please untie me," Hermione whispered.

"You'll run if I do," Carrow pointed out.

"No, I won't," Hermione whispered. "I want to touch you, too."

Carrow chuckled, tormenting her all the more, before she cancelled the spell, and Hermione was free. Without even thinking, Hermione reached for the other woman, tangling a hand in Carrow's long dark hair and pulling her close. It was hard to see in the dark, but somehow, Hermione found Carrow's lips and stole a kiss from the other woman. Carrow leaned into the kissed, moving her fingers faster inside of Hermione. Hermione returned the favour, smoothing her free hand down Carrow's front until she reached the junction of her thighs.

"Mmmm," Carrow hummed against her lips as Hermione trailed her fingers between the Death Eater's slick folds before spearing her fingers into the tight, silken passage.

"Gods, don't stop," Hermione whispered against her lips, curling her fingers inside Alecto and beckoning with them, her hips rolling into ever caress.

Distracted as they were, they both missed the sound of footsteps approaching in the dark, and Carrow cried out softly at the sweet caress of Hermione's fingers inside of her before she leaned in and snogged her hard.

"Having all the fun without me, _kotik?"_ a low, Russian accented voice intruded on the moment just as the orgasm exploded through Hermione, and Carrow jerked against her, pulling back from Hermione's lips with a gasp.

"Dolohov," Carrow whispered. "Oh, Gods."

She broke on Hermione's fingers as the Russian slid his hands around her middle, tracing them over her stomach and then lower, encountering Hermione's fingers within his witch.

"And just who are you playing with?" Dolohov wanted to know. " _Lumos_."

Hermione blinked against the bright light, still leaning against the tree.

" _Pchelka_ ," he smirked at Hermione over Carrow's shoulder, and Hermione noticed the way Carrow leaned back against his chest when he pressed up behind her, holding her hostage.

From the contented smile on her face, it almost looked like she was pleased to see him.

"Dolohov," Hermione said, pulling her fingers from the other witch when she'd come.

"Touching my witch?" he asked of Hermione, looking more than a little fierce.

"It's only fair, Dolohov," Carrow murmured. " _You_ licked her out. You didn't think I was going to end up saddled with you, knowing you might sneak off and shag the mudblood without me, did you?"

"Tastes good, too," Dolohov muttered.

Hermione watched Carrow frown before she pulled her fingers out of Hermione and brought them to her lips. Hermione blushed crimson when the other witch closed her eyes as thought savouring the taste of her.

"She does," Carrow agreed. "Thorfinn is a lucky boy."

"If he can catch her," Dolohov said. "Better run, little mudblood. He's coming this way."

Hermione looked over her shoulder when Dolohov nodded toward something behind her. Forcing his way through the closely growing trees, his wand tip lit up, was the wizard they spoke of.

"Oh, bollocks," Hermione muttered. "Right. This was…. Interesting."

"Wait," Carrow whispered. "Don't leave me here."

"You're mine now, _kotik_ ," Dolohov muttered, his fingers playing inside his witch.

"I'll never be yours," Carrow whispered before she twisted in his hold and dug her wand into his ribs.

Hermione winced when she blasted him witch an unfriendly curse that sent the Russian flying across the small clearing.

"GRANGER!" Thorfinn Rowle roared as Hermione and Alecto shared a loaded glance.

"Run," Carrow told her, taking her hand and pulling her away from the tree.

" _Stupefy!"_ Rowle shouted, flinging a hex at them.

Hermione dodged behind a tree just in time.

"We need to split up," Hermione told Carrow. "You go that way, I'll go this way," she nodded her head in opposite directions.

"Fine," Carrow said.

Hermione hissed in surprise when the other witch yanked on her arm, pulling her close for a moment and stealing another snog from her lips.

"What was that for?" Hermione asked, pulling away, baffled.

Carow shrugged. "The effect of the potion. Run, little mudblood. Rowle doesn't actually _like_ to share his toys. If he catches you, he might kill you."

"Blast it all, Granger," Rowle shouted as Carrow smirked and took off running in the opposite direction. "Stop running. I'm going to catch you eventually. You're just going to hurt yourself in the dark."

"I'd rather trip in a rabbit hole and break my neck than be saddled with you, Superstar," Hermione called over her shoulder tauntingly.

Her body was singing from the orgasm, courtesy of Carrow, and she hated the fact that her mind was telling her that if she stopped running and just let Rowle capture her, he might shag her into oblivion until she couldn't think straight. She'd already been intimate with two Death Eaters. What was one more?

"Oh, I'll wring your neck for you, Princess," he threatened darkly from behind her, crashing through the woods in her wake and intent on capturing her. "I'll wring your neck until you stop kicking, but I'm going to fuck you stupid, first."

"You've got to catch me first, Rowle," Hermione tormented, weaving through the trees, the tip of her wand lit to light the way so that she wouldn't crash into a tree of fall on her face.

"You think that'll be hard?" Rowle shouted.

"You can't even run through the trees," Hermione taunted. "Of course, it'll be hard! I'll be a little old crone before you catch me, Rowle."

"Oh, I'm going to bend you over something and redden your arse, Princess," he threatened, grunting when he collided with a tree in the dark.

"Yeah, sure," Hermione scoffed, darting away into the night and leaving him for dead, her slim frame fitting through the trees a lot easier than his could.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Looky! Another chapter! And so soon after the last one! And guess what? The next 3 chapter are also written and just need to be edited before I share. You say: YAAAAAY! This one is going to be a pretty open and shut fic, and I'm hoping to complete it entirely before April is out. Hope you like it, even if it won't be some epic length. Much love! Happy Easter!**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By KIttenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle was running hard, covered in scrapes and scratches from the tightly packed trees his witch had led him on a merry dance amongst. His side was aching from a stitch, and he'd twisted his ankle in a rabbit hole about a mile back. He had to give it to the little bitch. She was quicker than she looked, and she was doing a fair job of outrunning him.

That she was tricky with her wand and using it to create traps for him in the dark was also clever, even if it was a bloody nightmare. He just wanted to catch her. He was tired of running and he was angry enough to squeeze the life right out of her, but he wanted to fuck her like he wanted his next breath.

Hermione fucking Granger. What were the fucking odds? The wretched little mudblood bitch he'd been at school with. Thorfinn remembered tormenting her mercilessly. Two years behind him, and a bloody pain in the arse, the bossy little bitch had been a thorn in his side more often than not. Of fucking _course_ it was her he'd be matched with. He should've known, he supposed. The little bitch could push every single one of his buttons simply by existing in his general vicinity. He'd put her out of his head when he'd graduated, refusing to think about her anymore, despite having spent way too many nights thinking about the wretched little swot.

He shook his head as he ran after her, pleased to see that amid the dark, she'd begun heading for less thickly wooded ground. She would be his in short order. He was going to pin her down and fuck her until she couldn't bloody move. He hadn't seen her in almost three years. Not since he'd graduated from Hogwarts and joined the Death Eater ranks. She'd grown, he noticed, the area she was running through lit up thanks to the fire glowing brilliantly away to their left, courtesy of whomever had set the forest o fire to flush the witches out and ensure they couldn't get away.

She was a little taller than he remembered, and when he'd been standing in that ring of flames squinting at her, he'd noticed that she'd gotten prettier, too.

"C'mon, Princess," he muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the brilliant crimson cape swinging from her shoulders as she tore through the underbrush.

He'd been gaining on her for a while, now. She might be able to flit through the trees a bit easier than he could, but she didn't have the stamina to run all night. If the pulsing desire coursing through his body was any indication, she probably wasn't interested in running from him all night, anyway. His cock was heavy with the need to be buried inside her tight little cunt and Thorfinn was just waiting for her to put a foot wrong, or to give up.

Putting on a burst of speed when they reached a clearing, Thorfinn didn't waste his breath shouting insults or taunts at her anymore. He was done running. He was ready to fuck, and she'd just better get used to it.

She heard him coming, darting a glance over her shoulder when he crunched a twig underfoot.

"Shit," he heard her curse, firing a wild stunning spell over her shoulder in his direction.

"Stop running, Granger," he commanded, dodging the spell and closing the distance between them quickly now. She might have proven she had more stamina than he'd thought, but he knew she was getting tired.

"Never," Granger snarled.

Just before he could even think about taking a leap at her and tackling her into the grass, a streak of blonde hair and periwinkle fabric appeared from out of the trees to Granger's right, colliding with her heavily.

"Ouch!" Granger groaned and Thorfinn tripped over his own feet and then over his witch when she and the blonde witch went down in a tangle of limbs.

"Hermione?" the witch asked.

"Luna?" Granger said.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry, Hermione!" Lovegood was saying, both of them sitting up and trying to untangle themselves.

Thorfinn recognized the witch. She'd been their prisoner for months. He caught himself against a tree before he could fall on top of the pair of them, and he was breathing hard when Bass came trotting into the clearing behind them.

"Shit!" Granger cursed. "Luna, run!"

Rabastan chuckled.

"Go on, baby," he nodded when Lovegood leapt to her feet, her eyes wide and terrified when she looked in Rabastan's direction. "I'll give you a hundred-meter head start, since Granger messed up my plans of tackling you."

"You _want_ me to keep running?" Lovegood asked, frowning.

"I want to tackle you into the grass and ravish you until you scream, beautiful. Go on. Run. I won't have a mudblood interfering with my ability to capture you. Oh, hey Finn. This one's yours, eh?"

"Bass," Thorfinn grunted in greeting, leaning against the tree and trying to catch his breath.

"Come on, Lovegood. Run, darling. I'll give you five seconds," Rabastan said.

"Crap," Lovegood muttered. "Sorry, Hermione."

With that, the girl took off running again, dashing across the clearing and heading for the trees.

"One. Two. Three," Bass began to count, calling out loud enough that Lovegood would be able to hear him. "Better run, Granger. Or Finn will fuck you where you've fallen. Four."

"Like hell, he will," Granger snarled, leaping to her feet and rubbing at her skinned knee, glaring daggers at Thorfinn before she began trying to limp away.

"That's the spirit. Give her a head start, Finn. She's earned it. FIVE! Ready or not, Lovegood!" Rabastan crowed before nodding at Granger and winking at Thorfinn, and sprinting after the witch once more.

Lovegood screamed even as she disappeared into the trees once more.

"Don't run, Princess," Thorfinn said, still leaning against the tree, watching Granger trying to limp away.

She'd hurt herself pretty bad, by the looks of it, and Thorfinn knew it would be unsporting to pounce on her while she was wounded.

"I'll never let you take me," she warned him, turning to face him, her wand raised as she took up a dueling stance.

"You won't have a choice," Thorfinn told her, pushing away from the tree. "You know you don't want to run anymore. Running's hard. And you're horny enough that you want to jump my bones as I stand here."

Thorfinn smirked, putting his hands on his head to better allow his lungs to fill with oxygen. He knew from the way her eyes trailed over his exposed body that she wanted him. Her eyes skidded over his chest and his washboard stomach to the jutting erection straining against the fabric of his jeans.

"I actually have taste, thank you," she argued.

"Don't spew venom at me, baby girl," he shook his head, unable to keep from chuckling. "You've wanted me for years."

"You're mistaken," she argued.

"Am I?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "I reckon you wanted me pretty bad in that broom closet at Hogwarts, that time."

"I was drunk," she argued, putting her hands on her hips.

"Liar," Thorfinn smirked.

"I was. There was something in the punch at the Yule Ball. I wasn't myself. And don't smirk at me like that. It's not like I shagged you that night."

"So close," he murmured, never taking his eyes off her, recalling all too well the things he'd done to her that night in that cupboard.

"Was not," she argued.

Thorfinn supposed he should've known she'd be as stubborn as him.

"If we hadn't been interrupted, I'd have had you that night, Princess," he told her.

"You would not," she argued.

"I would've," he smirked. "You _know_ I'm not a good guy, baby girl. You think it'd have mattered to me that you were a bit tipsy? If Davies and Delacour hadn't interrupted, I'd have hard-fucked you into that wall until you'd never want anyone else's cock."

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes.

"I'm gonna hard fuck you in the grass here tonight, you know?" he said, stepping closer with measured strides.

"You're not. I don't want you," she said stubbornly.

"You do," he disagreed. "That fermented pumpkin juice is making you so horny, you're creaming for me, baby girl."

"The use of illicit liquids does not substitute for consent, Rowle," she argued.

"Maybe not," he allowed. "But I'll have you just the same."

"You won't. I'll kill you before I let you have me."

"You want me, Granger," Thorfinn told her. "I can see it in the way you keep eyeing my cock. Just give in. You're not getting away tonight. You won't get away until I've fucked you and wrapped this around your ring-finger."

He fished the wedding band out of his pocket and held it up, letting her see it. It gleamed in the firelight and she eyed it like it were a live snake, rather than a ring. Thorfinn shook his head, smirking at her reaction.

"You really want to do this?" she asked, frowning at him and changing tactics, obviously realizing that being stubborn was only going to make him want to prove her wrong.

"I want to fuck you, yeah," he nodded, twisting the ring in his grip and taking another step in her direction. "I've wanted for fuck you since I was sixteen."

"How old are you, now?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Almost twenty-two," he shrugged. "I've only got two years on you, Princess."

"You wanted to fuck me when I was fourteen?" she asked. "That was in my third year. I still had big hair and buck teeth."

Thorfinn shrugged. "I'm used to big hair," he said, fisting a handful of his own wild blond mane.

"You're saying you've spent the past six years thinking about fucking me?" she asked, looking skeptical.

"No," Thorfinn shook his head, taking another step in her direction. "I've spent the last six years fucking just about anyone else trying to _stop_ thinking about wanting to fuck you."

She wrinkled her nose at him.

"I don't believe you," she shook her head. "You're just saying what you think I want to hear in the hopes of distracting me."

"It's working," he smirked at her.

"I'm not letting you fuck me. I'd rather die than be betrothed to you, Rowle," she told him, lifting her chin defiantly and glaring up at him.

She trembled where she stood and Thorfinn could tell she was caught somewhere between wanting him to close the distance between them and wanting to run like hell. He caught the way she twitched her wand, subtly healing herself after her tumble with Lovegood. She was going to run, he was sure of it.

"You hate me that much?" he asked, trying to stall her.

"You're a Death Eater," she reminded him. "And you tormented me ceaselessly at school."

"Didn't stop you from pulling me into that broom cupboard though, did it?" Thorfinn smirked.

"That was a mistake," Granger admitted, frowning and glancing down at her feet. "You caught me in a moment of weakness."

"I caught you crying because your stupid, blood-traitor friend was jealous that you were there with Krum," Thorfinn corrected her. "And I did a pretty good job of cheering you up, as I recall."

"You took advantage of me," she argued.

"You were the one who pulled _me_ into that cupboard, Princess. Who was I to say no?" he teased, stalking closer while she was looking at her feet. He wanted so badly to tackle her and fuck her right there in the grass.

"I was upset, and tipsy, and _you_ were tormenting me," she argued hotly.

"You wanted my cock," he informed her, grinning.

"No, I didn't," she argued. "I just wanted you to shut up."

"Certainly got that, didn't you?" Thorfinn grinned. "You snog like the devil, by the way."

"You snog like a flailing octopus," she said meanly and Thorfinn barked out a startled laugh despite himself.

"Oh, well that's friendly," he laughed. "Don't pretend you didn't love every second of it, baby girl. You and I both knew we were soul-matched right then."

"I refuse to believe that my soul is so twisted as to match yours," Granger said stubbornly.

"Funny, you're not running anymore," he pointed out, closing the distance between them and reaching to tangle a hand into her wild curls. She had leaves caught in them, and she looked a bloody mess, but gods, he wanted her.

"I'm waiting to lure you close enough to do this," she said, smirking as she lifted her wand and dug the tip into his ribcage.

Before she could blast him with the spell, Thorfinn seized her wrist, forcing the wand away and the nearby trees burst into flames as the spell exploded form the end of her wand.

"Going to kill me, Princess?" he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of the Killing Curse connecting with the tree.

"What? You thought that your soul-matched witch wouldn't have a killer instinct like you do?" she sneered. "Let go of me."

"No," Thorfinn snarled. "Drop the wand, witch."

"Never."

"Drop it, or I'll snap your wrist and _make_ you."

Granger curled her top lip at him like a feral dog, refusing to back down. Before he could make good on his threat – and Merlin knew he _wanted_ to hurt her – an explosion to their left drew their attention.

Thorfinn's eyes widened when Alecto Carrow darted into view, leaping over a fallen log and firing a Killing curse over her shoulder. Dolohov was right behind her, dodging the spell and gaining on her fast. He flung the Cruciatus curse at the witch, catching her in the back with it, and Alecto screamed as she went down, tumbling and rolling as she lost her balance. Dolohov was on her like a shot, lifting the curse and tackling her before she could roll to her feet and run some more.

She lost her wand in the scuffle, and she screeched like an enraged banshee as she flailed under Dolohov.

"Get off me, you fucking bastard!" she was snarling.

"Trying to fucking Avada me, you bitch!" Dolohov growled right back, flipping her onto her back and pinning her hands either side of her head. "I'll fucking strangle you, you useless, no good, fucking whore!"

"Do it then, cunt," Alecto snarled, bucking and struggling, trying to throw him off.

He leaned toward her, intent on kissing her or headbutting her, Thorfinn couldn't be sure, but before he could do either, Carrow lunged at him, biting him on the cheek. Dolohov howled with fury, his cheek coming away bloody and Thorfinn winced when Toshka released one of Carrow's wrists, drew his hands back and slapped her across the face.

She slapped him right back, nails sharp enough to draw blood raking over the Russian's cheek.

"Holy shit," Thorfinn said, his eyes wide.

Before their eyes, Dolohov flipped Carrow onto her stomach, his heavy hand pushing on the back of her head and forcing her face into the leaf-litter while he used his free hand to yank her cloak out of the way before going for the fastening on his trousers.

"Oh, no you don't!" Granger hissed, jerking out of Thorfinn's hold and firing a hex at the Russian bastard.

He went flying and Carrow crowed with delight as she pushed herself up onto her feet.

"Thanks, Granger," she smirked, scooping up her wand and firing another hex at Dolohov.

"Oi!" Thorfinn growled, flinging a hex at Carrow in return, always on his best mate's side.

"Get your witch, _Ditya_ ," Toshka growled at him from across the clearing, rolling to his feet and flinging more hexes at Carrow. She dodged the first two before stepping right into the third and she cried out as she went down again, her body bowing in agony under the Cruciatus curse.

"Aren't you glad I'm not as cruel as him?" Thorfinn asked of Granger, who was still flinging hexes at Dolohov.

She responded by casting a _Bombarda_ at his feet and Thorfinn gave a shout of fury as he was blasted back while Granger ran for it again.

"Oh, no you fucking don't!" Thorfinn snarled, forgetting his intention of talking Granger into this. He rolled to his feet and sprang after her, watching her snarl in fury when Toshka flung a Stinging Jinx at her before she could get away.

He closed the distance easily when she began limping again, still hurt from the fall with Lovegood, and now suffering a swollen foot thanks to Dolohov. Thorfinn tackled her from behind, pinning the little witch to the ground beneath him. He grappled with her for her wand, snatching it out of her grip and throwing it across the clearing so that she wouldn't be able to use it to fight back.

She screeched in fury, writhing under him.

"Get off me, Dolohov!" Alecto shouted from across the clearing.

"Never, _kotik_ ," Antonin shook his head. "You're… fucking… mine!"

Thorfinn turned his head in time to watch Toshka fish his cock from his trousers before he pried Carrow's legs apart and drove into her hard. A ragged sob tore from the witch, and Granger mimicked the sound under him, in sympathy or her own terror, he wasn't entirely certain.

"Let me go, Rowle," she hissed, wriggling beneath him.

Thorfinn flipped her so that she was on her back and looking up at him.

"Don't fight it, Princess," he said, looking into her furious face even as his whole body hummed with the need to claim her. "Come on. You know you're mine."

"I'll never be yours."

"You were born mine, you stubborn bloody bitch," Thorfinn hissed, catching her hands when she tried to claw at him.

He drove his knee between her thighs, parting them, and he gripped both of her wrists in one hand, pinning it above her head while he unzipped his jeans.

"Don't," she said, her eyes widening in panic when she realized he wasn't fucking around anymore. "Rowle… don't. Gods, please don't."

"Got to, Princess," Thorfinn told her. "The Hunt doesn't end until every witch is caught. I've got to claim you, baby girl."

"Please don't," she begged. "Thorfinn…"

Gods, the sound of his name on her lips almost had him coming in his pants.

"Don't beg, Princess," he shook his head. "I don't hold with begging. You _know_ you want me. You've wanted me for years. Since that night in the broom cupboard. Come on. Let's just finish what we started that night, eh?"

Before she could protest again, Thorfinn leaned down and captured her lips, snogging her hard. She whimpered under him, writhing, struggling, trying to get away. Thorfinn kissed her harder, knowing that if he could just reignite her arousal, she'd be begging him to fuck her, rather than begging for her freedom.

She whined when he'd freed his cock and turned his attention to readying her for him. She arched under him, snogging him back when he drove two fingers inside her pussy. Sweet fucking Circe, she was wet. Just like he remembered.

With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine they were back there in that broom closet at Hogwarts. He couldn't even remember how they'd gotten there. One minute she'd been crying by herself on the steps outside the Great Hall, and the next she'd had her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso and she was snogging him like she couldn't get enough of him. Thorfinn vaguely remembered teasing her for ruining her make-up, and he remembered pulling some of the pins out of her hair, letting the chemically straightened locks tumble down her back.

He remembered her storming away from him while he dogged her steps, and he remembered her whirling to face him when he told her that a bit of snogging might cheer her up. He didn't remember how they'd gotten into the cupboard, but he did remember shoving her up against the wall and grinding himself against the junction of her thighs. He repeated that action now, grinding against her without taking her yet. She groaned, her wrists wriggling in his grip as she arched into the touch, snogging him back hotly.

He _knew_ he could get her, if she'd just let herself feel and stop thinking. Thorfinn twisted his fingers deep inside her, beckoning with them and swallowing the sound she made when she arched into the touch. She prided her wrists free of his grip and Thorfinn leaned into her harder when, rather than pulling away from him, she tangled her hands into his thick blond hair, pulling him down on top of her more firmly, making him crazy.

Gods, he wanted to drill her right there in the dirt. From the way she stopped fighting him off and started fighting to bring him closer, Thorfinn could tell she wanted it to. She whimpered against his lips when he slid his fingers out of her, nudging her thighs further apart and aligning his cock at the apex of her thighs. He pulled back from kissing her then, wanting to watch her face as he impaled her. She blinked her eyes open, frowning at him, trying to understand why he was stopping.

Thorfinn smirked before slowly feeding inch after slow inch of himself inside her.

"Oh, gods," Granger whispered, her eyes widening slowly when she realized what he was doing and what it meant.

"You're mine, Princess," he whispered, still smirking.

While she was distracted by the feel of his cock tunnelling into her, Thorfinn caught her left hand, untangling it from his hair and holding it between them. Her eyes widened in panic when she caught the wicked gleam of the plain gold band.

"Rowle, no!" she hissed, but it was too late.

Thorfinn slid the ring down the length of her finger until it met her knuckle, grinning triumphantly as her body bowed, the magic bonding them streaming through the pair of them hot enough to take his breath away. He'd never felt anything like it, but Thorfinn knew in an instant that the wickedly zinging feel of something brushing against his magic was her. Her magic. Her soul. Right there intermingling with his own, aligning itself like two pieces of a jigsaw clicking into place.

"Fuck!" Thorfinn breathed harshly, closing his eyes at the sweet sensation before bucking his hips and driving into her even deeper. He laid claim to what was his long into the night, caught up in the magic of the pagan rite, caught up in the sweet, tight heat of his witch, caught in the feeling coursing through his body like nothing else he'd ever known.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Show of hands. Who's enjoying these super speedy updates?**

 ***raises own hand* LOL**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

Hermione Granger woke up cold and sore, the sound of birds chirping softly invading upon her peaceful slumber. She grizzled in annoyance before slowly blinking open her eyes and wondering if it would be bad form to murder the pesky, chirpy bothers. She narrowed her eyes when she took note of the fact that she was lying on the cold ground of the forest floor, stretched out on her side and quite cold.

To make matters worse, she wasn't alone, and Hermione stared at her left arm for a long moment before looking over the far more muscular arm of a man that laid beside her own. It bore the terrible, black stain of a Dark Mark and Hermione hissed when the previous night came flooding back to her.

Turning quickly, she spotted the tangled blond mane and strong features of none other than Thorfinn Rowle. Closing her eyes against the assault of memories featuring him and the most intense sex of her young life, Hermione sat up quickly, scrubbing a hand over her face.

The glint of gold adorning her finger in the low morning light made her blanch and Hermione fought the urge to vomit when she held her hand before her face, staring at the wedding ring nestled against her knuckle. It didn't budge when she tried to yank the wretched thing off her finger. Merlin's little green apples, this was _bad!_ Snarling to herself under her breath, Hermione took in the fact that she and Rowle were both naked, and that other than the cloak she'd been given, and his jeans, there was no clothing in sight. To make matters worse, her head throbbed like a herd of hippogriffs had been using it as a floor for tap dancing practice and she wondered if it was actually possible to feel this wretched, whilst still being alive.

Rolling away from Rowle and dragging her cloak with her, Hermione dusted herself off quickly, whimpering at the ache in her muscles and the throb between her legs. Merlin, he'd fucked her hard. Hermione scowled down at the wretched blond Death Eater for a long moment, thinking about kicking him in the ribs just for spite, but deciding against it. That would only wake him up.

If she was quick, and quiet, she could find Luna and they could escape. Searching the clearing with her eyes, Hermione laid eyes on Carrow and Dolohov across the small clearing, spooned around one another. She winced when she noticed they both had blood on their faces, and Hermione shook her head, recalling in intimate detail some of the things she'd seen them doing to each other during the night. She hadn't known, until then, what it was to truly watch two people have hate-sex. But Sweet Merlin, those two _hated_ each other.

Unwillingly to wake them, though she felt the strangest urge to touch both of them, Hermione searched the ground until she found her wand, scooping it up and whispering a locator spell to direct her to Luna. The wand spun on her palm for a moment before giving her a heading and Hermione took off in that direction at a brisk trot, being careful where she put her feet, not wanting to wake any of them in the clearing as she left.

She glanced over her shoulder when she reached the tree-line, and Hermione spotted Carrow slowly extracting herself from Dolohov's embrace. The witch looked over and met her gaze, smirking wickedly at her before wiggling her fingers – freshly adorned with a wedding band – in farewell. Hermione almost laughed when the other woman even blew a kiss in her direction, and her cheeks stained pink when she remembered what she'd been doing with that woman during the night.

Waving in response and hoping the woman wouldn't out her before she could escape, Hermione jogged away, following the point of her wand in search of Luna.

She came across the other witch wrapped in the arms of Rabastan Lestrange, the two of them tangled together on the forest floor behind a shrub. Swathed in their matching periwinkle cloaks, they actually looked rather adorable together, and Hermione could tell that just like she'd done with Thorfinn, Luna had shagged the Death Eater. The bright silver band gleaming on her left ring-finger told tales of the ritual ensnaring them, too, and Hermione sighed, scrubbing her hand over her face once more.

She reached for her own wedding band again, trying to pull it from her fingers, to no avail. Curling her lip in annoyance and glaring at the appendage for a moment, Hermione considered taking the time to try and hex the wretched thing off, but that would have to be a job for later. They couldn't apparate from where they were, but Hermione was thinking that if they ran hard enough, they might reach Malfoy Manor and be able to exit through the front gates, escaping the wards and being able to apparate free.

"Luna?" she whispered, sneaking closer and touching the blonde girl's arm carefully.

Luna blinked her eyes open in an instant, her expression morphing to one of fear and Hermione wondered what horrible things she been through while she'd been held captive by the Death Eaters.

"Hermione?" she whispered, her brow furrowing in confusion. Hermione could tell the younger witch was suffering the hangover effects of the fermented pumpkin juice they'd been given, but she held her finger to her lips, indicating that she needed to be quiet.

Luna glanced at the arm slung over her waist, and the other pillowed beneath her cheek. She narrowed her eyes on the Dark Mark stamped on Rabastan Lestrange's arm before looking back at Hermione.

"We need to go. Come on. Before they all wake up," Hermione whispered.

Luna nodded, carefully sliding out of Lestrange's grip. He snuffled and snorted, grizzling in his sleep as though he knew he was being abandoned, but Luna didn't pay him any mind. She pulled her cloak around herself carefully and rose to her feet with Hermione's help.

"This way, come on," Hermione whispered, nodding in the direction her wand pointed that would take them back to Malfoy Manor.

"We can't go through the Manor, Hermione," Luna shook her head. "We'll be caught."

"They all ran in the Hunt," Hermione told her, holding the other girl's hand as they ran through the forest.

"The Dark Lord didn't," Luna whispered. "He'll be there. He'll be waiting."

"It's only early. He might be asleep. We can't stay. I won't be a prisoner for another day, betrothed to a Death Eater or not," Hermione said fiercely. "If we can get into the house, we can Floo somewhere. Or we can run through and escape the wards to apparate."

"We'll be caught," Luna said.

"We might," Hermione agreed grimly. "But it'll be no different than if we stay and don't even _try_ to escape. Come on. Run faster. Before any of them wake up and realize we're missing."

"They'll come after us, you know?" Luna told her, running harder. "We're married to them, Hermione. There's no need for vows on ceremonies when a couple is soul-matched during a Witch Hunt."

"I don't care. If we can get back to the Order, we'll be safe," Hermione said. "Harry and the others won't let us be captured again."

"Is Harry even still alive?" Luna asked. "How were you captured?"

"We accidentally said the name while we were on the run," Hermione told her. "Harry and Ron got away, but I got caught. They'll be fine. We'd know if they were dead."

Luna nodded, conceding the point and they ran harder when the trees cleared and Malfoy Manor loomed in the distance. Hermione was surprised to find that though it felt like she'd run for miles last night, they really hadn't been that far from the house. They passed a few others as they went, many couples naked and entangled on the forest floor and sprawled on the grass. She spied Draco Malfoy dozing with his arm thrown over a dark-haired witch from Luna's year, aiming her wand at him when he opened his eyes and stared at them.

He held up his hand, entwined though it was with that of Astoria Greengrass, obviously surrendering.

"How do we get out?" she hissed, hurrying toward the boy, uncaring that he was getting an eyeful of her naked form between the folds of her cloak.

"Take the Floo," Malfoy murmured. "Go in through the back door, hang a right and run up the three flights of stairs. They lead directly to my bedroom. There's Floo powder on the mantel, and the fireplace is still connected to the Floo Network. If you try the main fires or try to run through the house, the Dark Lord will find you."

"Can we trust you?" Hermione asked, glaring at the boy hatefully.

"Believe me, Granger, the last thing I want to see is the two of you even more entangled in this mess," Malfoy whispered quietly, and he surprised her when he let go of Astoria's hand and reached toward her carefully.

He took hold of her left hand, examining the ring on her finger and frowned.

"Who?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"Thorfinn Rowle," Hermione said tightly.

Malfoy snorted. "Figures," he muttered. "Lucky fucking bastard. Lovegood? You got Bass, right?"

Luna nodded, and Hermione wondered how Malfoy knew that.

"Thought you might," he nodded. "Go on. Run. You'll only be put through hell if you stay here."

Hermione frowned at the blond boy in confusion.

"Come on, Hermione," Luna whispered, pulling on her arm when Malfoy clung to her hand for a moment, pulling it closer and surprising her when he turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm. "I trust Draco. He's trying to protect us. We need to go. Now."

Hermione nodded, pulling her hand out of Malfoy's grip, and rising to her feet once more. She took Luna's hand again and the two for them ran for it. Up the back steps to the patio, across the tiles, through the backdoor. They turned left inside the door and Hermione pulled the smaller witch with her as they climbed the three staircases to Malfoy's bedroom.

It was easy to find, the first room at the top of the stairs, the door ajar and boasting his Slytherin Quidditch robes handing on the back of the closet door.

"Where to?" Luna asked, scooping up a handful of Floo powder.

"The Burrow," Hermione told her. "From there, Headquarters, if we can't find anyone. You go first."

Luna smiled tightly. "Come with me, Hermione," she said. "I don't want to leave you behind."

"Go. I'll be fine," Hermione told her. "I'll be right behind you. Hurry."

Luna made a face, but did as she was told. Calling out to be sent to the Burrow. Hermione heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and she scooped up a handful of Floo powder for herself, narrowing her eyes and aiming her wand at the intruder. Rowle's face swam into view just as she dropped the Floo powder, and he gave a shout of fury as he charged into the room – just as naked as she was – his wand twirling madly like he might prevent her escape. Hermione hit him with a Stinging Jinx, blasting him back before she was engulfed in green flames and whooshed to the safety of the Burrow.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: I had so much fun writing so many new chapters for this over the weekend! I hope you're all enjoying them as much as I am.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

Rabastan Lestrange sat up in the woods, clutching his head that pounded worse than it had done the time he and Rod had taken on a coven of vampires and lost.

He realized idly that he was naked, and that he was cold.

"What the fuck am I doing, naked, in the woods?" he asked of no-one since he was alone.

Frowning, he scanned the ground around him, clutching his head and searching the forest floor for his clothing.

As he did so, he caught sight of the wedding band on his finger and frowned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he muttered, recalling chasing Lovegood through the forest and tackling her in the underbrush.

He'd fucked her.

No, worse than that. He'd Hunted her. He was doomed.

"Fermented pumpkin juice can suck my great big fucking dick!" he snarled, rolling to his feet and scooping up his jeans while his head throbbed dully. "Fucking ridiculous! Where the fuck is my witch? LOVEGOOD!?"

He scanned the area, hearing a few groans from somewhere nearby and Rabastan stomped, barefoot in their direction. He charged through the underbrush and narrowed his eyes when he spotted Finn laid out on his back, similarly naked, and similarly alone. Further across the clearing Dolohov and Carrow were entangled, though Carrow was sitting up and in the process of stealing Dolohov's trousers for herself, by the looks of things.

"Oi! Where the fuck is my witch?" Rabastan demanded, never in the best of moods when he first woke up, let alone when he did so naked, with a raging hangover, and without his new wife.

Finn jerked awake with a snarl, sitting bolt upright and glaring at him.

"Bass?" he asked, clutching his head and looking confused. "I'm… naked. Why am I naked? Oh, for fuck's sake. Where's _my_ witch?"

"She left," Carrow said, smirking. "About three minutes ago. Took her cloak and ran for it. Collected Lovegood, by the sounds of it. They're probably making a break for it to escape the wards."

"No!" Thorfinn shouted, springing to his feet and ignoring his jeans as he charged in the direction of the Manor.

Rabastan grunted when the big git grabbed him, towing him along behind him for a meter before dropping his arm as they both ran.

"I swear to fucking Merlin, if that little bitch escapes, I'll kill her!" Thorfinn snarled, running as hard as he could.

"You got Granger, yeah?" Rabastan asked. "Smart little thing. Bitch stole my fucking wife!"

"I'll kill her. I swear to Merlin, I'll kill her. Take my ring and fucking leave? Really?"

They ran by Draco, who was sitting up and smirking despite the witch still sprawled next to him in a matching cloak to his pale green one.

"She went this way?" Rowle asked of the younger wizard.

"Yep," Draco laughed. "Took Lovegood with her."

"For fuck's sake! Where?" Thorfinn growled.

"My bedroom, probably. The Floo."

"Probably?" Thorfinn hissed. "You _told_ them how to get loose?"

"You two will only fuck them up," Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, they wear your rings. They can't escape you forever. Just until the war is over, I'd reckon."

"I'm gonna kill you, you meddlesome little fucker!" Thorfinn hissed, flinging a hex at Malfoy.

Malfoy laughed as he blocked it and Thorfinn charged toward the house, intent on catching his witch before she could flee.

"Why, Draco?" Rabastan asked.

"They deserve better than the likes of you two," Malfoy drawled.

"Got a thing for them, do you?"

"One of them," Malfoy conceded, smirking. "You guess which one."

"Granger," Rabstan said immediately. "Though I reckon you've been getting cosy with Lovegood down in those dungeons when you take her food."

Malfoy just smirked, shrugging his shoulders and refusing to share. Rabastan thought about hexing the little fucker, but if he was being honest, he couldn't say he blamed the kid. Those witches _were_ better than the pair of Death Eater arseholes they'd been forced into marrying last night. Lovegood, was, anyway. Granger was trouble, Rabastan reckoned. He didn't envy Thorfinn in that.

A roar from inside the Manor echoed across the grounds and Rabastan shook his head, thinking that Thorfinn must've just missed them. He could see the glow of green flames from Draco's window as his Floo activated.

"They got away," Draco chuckled.

"He'll kill you," Rabastan said, knowing Rowle was probably losing his temper right at that very moment.

"He can suck a hag's clit," Draco retorted. "Granger's better than the likes of him, even if she is a mudblood."

"Your crush is showing," Rabastan drawled. "And in front of your new wife."

Draco glanced at the witch lying beside him while she slowly opened her eyes.

"Hey Tory," Draco said nonchalantly.

"Draco?" Astoria asked. "Oh… that's right."

She sat up quickly before looking at her hands in her lap. A wedding band glittered upon her finger and Rabastan got the feeling she wasn't thrilled about being married so young, or at all, but she knew better than to sob or to throw a tantrum over it. Not that she had much to complain about. The Malfoy kid might be a dick, but he was loaded. And they were soul-matched. They were bound to one another now.

At least she had the sense not to blubber.

"I'm of half a mind to torture you for letting them go, fuckface," Rabastan threatened his brother's nephew.

"Eat me, Bass," Malfoy drawled, rising to his feet and wiggling into his trousers before offering his hand to Astoria and helping her to her feet, apparently intent on taking her inside so they could both wash up and dress appropriately.

"Probably like that, wouldn't you, fucker?" Rabastan sneered.

"No, but you would," Draco smirked over his shoulder indicating to his blond hair and clearly aware of Rabastan's kink.

"Fucking kid," he muttered, crossing the lawn to drop down and sit on the edge of a nearby fountain.

He clutched his head and muttered to himself about his witch and fermented pumpkin juice and snarky kids until his brother appeared, his arm around Bellatrix, both of them looking thoroughly sated and happier than Rabastan had seen them look since long before Azkaban.

"Fuck face," Rabastan said to his brother by way of greeting.

"What's your problem, arsehole?" Rodolphus laughed at his rudeness.

"My witch escaped," Rabastan pouted. "Granger snatched her up and they both ran for it."

"You got the Lovegood girl, yeah?" Rod chuckled. "Who got Granger."

"Finn," Rabastan sighed. "And he just missed 'em in there, I reckon."

Right at that moment Thorfinn Rowle exploded out of the house sporting an extremely swollen face, roaring his fury, and actually breathing Fiendfyre in the direction of the lake.

"Nasty hex on that one," Rodolphus laughed, eyeing Thorfinn as he breathed fire in his rage.

"Bloody bitch, more like," Rabastan muttered. "Stole my fucking witch!"

"You're pouting," Bellatrix sighed. "Why are you always pouting, Bass? Just because your bride is a child doesn't mean _you_ can act like one."

"She's not a child!"

"She's sixteen!" Bellatrix argued.

"Go lick Bubotuber pus, Trix," Rabastan sneered, his mood worsening by the minute as the bond to his bride throbbed painfully with her absence and his head ached thanks to that fucking fermented pumpkin juice.

"Arsehole."

"Bitch."

"Must the two of you bicker like children?" Rod sighed. "And can someone knock him out before he burns down the Manor like a fucking fool?"

Bellatrix smirked, taking great delight as she turned her wand on Rowle and hit him with a Stunning Spell to the arse that would likely prevent him from sitting down comfortably for a day or two. Despite his foul mood, Rabastan laughed as Finn pitched forward and landed on his face in the grass just off the patio.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm so pleased you've all been enjoying this story so much. I really never expected quite such an enthusiastic response to it. Thank you.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace trying desperately to cling to her wand and to hold her cloak closed, lest she blind whomever was at the Burrow with her nudity.

"Hermione?" Fred Weasley asked as Hermione stumbled forward and gripped the back of the nearest chair before clutching her aching head.

"Fred?" she asked, squinting in his direction. "Oh, thank Merlin! I wasn't sure if the connection would even work when that bastard threw a hex at the fireplace when I was coming through."

He was standing with his wand drawn and Hermione put her hand on Luna's shoulder when the other girl sighed heavily, reaching for her comfortingly as though she'd feared Hermione would be caught.

"Hermione, is it really you?" Fred asked.

"Oh, blimey. Right. Security questions. Um… What did I threaten you with when you wouldn't stop testing your products on the first years in your seventh year at Hogwarts?"

Fred narrowed his eyes.

"You threatened to write to Mum when you knew detention would be ineffective on us," he said. "What happened between you and I last year at Grimmauld Place?"

Hermione frowned.

"That's a bit open ended, Fred. Do you mean the mistletoe?" Hermione frowned. "We snogged."

"You what?" Ron growled, appearing in the doorway behind Fred.

"Uh… right. Yeah, sorry mate," Fred said, glancing over his shoulder at Ron. "Mistletoe, you know? Meant nothing."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on the handsome twin, knowing very well that it's hadn't meant nothing, to either of them, and that it had been a bit more than a snog under the mistletoe, besides.

"Hermione, you're alive! And blimey! Luna?"

"Hello," Luna said softly, still clutching Hermione.

"Uh… Not to alarm anyone, but we're actually both naked under these cloaks," Hermione admitted, realizing Luna was self-conscious.

"What?" Ron said. "Why?"

"Fuck… Are you alright?" Fred said. "Blimey, Ron, hand over your jumper, yeah?"

He pulled his own jumper off over his head and handed it to Luna. She took it gratefully, wriggling into it with her back turned to them.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked of Hermione. "Blimey, you're not… shit. Naked, you said? MUM!"

Molly Weasley came bustling into the kitchen with a scowl on her face, but it slipped right off when she saw Hermione and Luna.

"Oh, my sweet girl!" Molly cried. "You're alive."

Hermione was engulfed in a warm hug and Luna was pulled in shortly after.

"My but…. Oh, no," Molly whispered, pulling back to look at the two of them, her eyes tracing over the twigs and leaves tangled in their hair and then over the bright cloaks they were wearing.

"Naked under those, are you?" she asked softly.

Hermione nodded, and Luna put her face in her hands. Molly caught the glint of the ring on Luna's hand immediately.

"What day is it?" Molly muttered. "Oh no. Last night was Halloween… You… you've both…"

"We ran in a Witch Hunt last night," Hermione nodded miserably, lowering herself into the nearest chair and putting her face in her hands, too.

"A Witch Hunt," Fred whispered. "No… Hermione, no!"

Hermione nodded miserably.

"They… they…" he said.

Hermione nodded again.

"Who?" Ron bit out, surprising Hermione that he knew what they were getting at. "Who are you bound to, Hermione?"

Hermione peeked from between her fingers, seeing the way Ron's eyes were fixed on the wedding band encircling her finger.

"Thorfinn Rowle," she admitted weakly.

"NO!" Ron shouted, stumbling back a step.

"And you, Luna?" Molly asked.

Luna began to cry softly.

"Rabastan Lestrange," she breathed.

Molly paled considerably.

"Oh, my poor girls," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears, too. "Oh, my poor, poor girls."

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, frowning as she tried to regain her composure.

"Upstairs, asleep," Ron admitted. "Greyback caught him with his claws and savaged him pretty bad when we were trying to get away. It's why I didn't come after you… I… oh, Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry!"

Hermione shook her head.

"Is Harry going to make it?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Remus reckons he'll be a bit lupine, like Bill, but he'll be alright, in time. He's pretty banged up. We gave him something to make him sleep through the worst of the itching from the mauling."

Hermione nodded slowly, her brow furrowing with worry that poor Harry might be forced to endure the pain and the itching and the wretchedness of even being partially infected with the lycanthropic curse.

"You're… married, then?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. "Betrothed. Bonded. Whatever it bloody is. I didn't even know what a Witch Hunt was until last night."

"Oh, you poor dear," Molly whispered, pulling her into another hug. "Oh, we need to get you both cleaned up. Come. Upstairs with the pair of you. We'll get your out of those cloaks and get your washed up. Look at this mess."

She began plucking leaves and twigs from Hermione's hair, obviously distraught and looking for some way to undo what had been done. Hermione let her. Her head ached too much to fight, and she'd been awake late into the night. She wouldn't mind a sleeping potion, herself.

"Fred, darling. Send word to Xenophilius. He needs to know Luna is safe. Ron, go to Shell Cottage, please. I need to speak with Bill. He might know something about undo such a bond as that instigated by the Hunt."

Hermione didn't argue as she was led down the hall and up the stairs toward the bathroom. Inside, Molly conjured them both a bath, duplicating the tubs and filling them with water and healing potions before she helped each of them out of their cloaks and jumpers, helping them into the warm water.

"My poor dears," she whispered. "Let me get you both a pain potion. The hangover from the drink is bad enough, but I imagine you're both terribly sore. Look at these cuts and bruises. Oh, I'll kill whoever thought initiating a Hunt was a good idea!"

Molly bustled about, bolstering about how she would make their new husbands pay for all this, and how she would find a way to break the betrothal bonds. Hermione didn't argue. She knew there was no point. No matter what she said, Molly would do whatever she could to fix this. The poor woman wouldn't forgive herself if she didn't.

Luna met Hermione's gaze over the rim of the bathtub, her eyes red from crying, her body trembling with the shock of everything they'd endured. She knew the girl had been held prisoner a long time, and she frowned, wishing there was a way to make this all better. When Molly left the room, intent on finding more potions to put in the bathwater to heal them, and to bring them both something to eat and a nice pot of tea, Hermione looked at Luna miserably.

"What do we do?" Luna asked softly, lifting her hand out of the tub and examining the ring on her finger.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I suppose… we just… avoid them. Eventually Harry will vanquish You Know Who, and then all the Death Eaters will be rounded up. Lestrange is well known, after escaping from prison already. And Rowle is wanted for many things. They'll both be locked in Azkaban and we'll just… go on with our lives like this never happened."

Luna laughed bitterly.

"For a clever girl, you really do know nothing about this ritual, Hermione," Luna said. "There is no backing out. There's no undoing this. We can't just… go on with our lives. We're married to them. We're bound to them. We can't ever be with anyone else, now."

"That's not true," Hermione shook her head. "Carrow said we can be intimate with whomever we had sexual contact with during the ritual."

"Well, unless you count us crashing into each other as sexual, there's only Rabastan who fits that bill for me, Hermione," Luna said. "Did you touch anyone else?"

"Yes," Hermione said, her cheeks flushing pink. "Dolohov and Carrow both um… touched me…"

"Oh, Hermione," Luna said sadly. "I'm so sorry… but even if Carrow was right… We can never be with any others. If you ever want to have children, or you want to ever have sex or kiss anyone again, it will have to be with Rowle. You know that, don't you?"

"I…" Hermione frowned. "Shit."

"Yeah," Luna laughed bitterly again. "And it's Lestrange for me for the rest of my life. Not to mention that, since the outlawing of the ritual, none of the old laws surrounding such bonds have been changed. _If_ any of the bonded Death Eaters are caught and tried, they won't be sent to prison. Not if one of their bond mates is walking free. Not for long, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

Luna's mouth twisted. "It's a soul bond, Hermione. You're bound to Rowle. And tenuously to Carrow and Dolohov by extension if you snogged them in the ritual. If we win the war and they're caught, they won't be sent to prison because _you_ will be free. The Ministry respects the bond too much to part bond mates for more than six months. It's why Mr Malfoy was set free despite being a Death Eater. Any longer spent apart is torture for the bond mate who isn't in prison. I know you can feel it… That pulse and throb inside your magic that aches and twinges painfully… that's because you're away from Rowle."

Hermione frowned at the other witch.

"You're saying we'll be… drawn to one another?" she asked.

Luna nodded. "I understand why we had to run, and you're right that we'll be safer here with the Order than we would be in the vicinity of You Know Who, but it will be like torture if we're kept apart from them for too long. Like it or not, we're saddled with those Death Eaters for the rest of our lives."

Hermione blinked at Luna in horror, lifting her hand from the water and turning it to stare at the ring encircling her finger. It was a simple gold band with no adornments or alternations. She tried to pull it off, frowning when it wouldn't budge.

"It won't come off, Hermione," Luna said softly. "You are bound to Rowle for the rest of your life. The soul-match recognizes the bond and has linked the two of you, forever. Two parts of one whole, you see? It's quite romantic, if you think about it."

"Romantic?" Hermione scoffed. "You find it romantic that you're magically bound to a man who has spent almost your entire life rotting in a prison cell for torturing Neville's parents?"

"He didn't do it," Luna said quietly. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was only seventeen when he was tried, you know?"

"He was still sentenced."

"For being there," Luna nodded. "And for doing nothing to stop Bellatrix and Rodolphus from torturing Neville's parents. He was tried as an accessory to their torture, but they were all sentenced to life because Mr and Mrs Longbottom were Aurors. The Ministry takes the assault of its MLE employees very seriously."

"How do you know?" Hermione frowned.

Luna looked over her and raised an eyebrow.

"Until today, I had been a prisoner in Malfoy Manor a long time, Hermione," Luna said softly. "I was captured during Bill's wedding here, and I've been sitting in that cell since, slowly going out of my mind and losing track of the days. I didn't know until last night that it was even Halloween. And prison guards like to talk, even amongst the Death Eaters."

"They… tortured you?" Hermione asked, frowning and reaching across the space between the two tubs to hold the other girl's hand.

"No," Luna said. "Not really. They gave me food, and they didn't use the Cruciatus curse on me when Daddy stopped printing things that You Know Who didn't like."

"Gods, Luna, did they rape you?" Hermione whispered. "Other than last night, I mean?"

Luna looked away.

"Not really," she said. "Not… Well, mostly I was left alone in my cell a lot, alongside Mr Ollivander. But sometimes they… I mean, look at me, Hermione."

She fixed her the usual, dreamy expression she tended to wear.

"I'm young, and I'm pretty, and I have this long hair that my Mum always said made me look like an angel. I'm a good girl and they… they are bad people…"

"Did they force themselves on you?" Hermione asked.

"No," Luna shook her head. "Some of them liked to touch. Rabastan, especially. He likes to touch. He likes my hair."

She smoothed a hand over the blonde tresses.

"But mostly they just… they liked to talk. People like Draco… Rowle, sometimes. Rabastan, quite a bit. Even Rodolphus, once. They would come down to make sure we'd been fed, and to make sure Mr Ollivander hadn't died. Sometimes they'd cast warming charms… Sometimes they'd bring me blankets. Draco slipped me lots of things to save my life in that dungeon…. But they just liked to talk, you know? They would come down and sit on the steps outside the cell door and just…. Talk to me. Sometimes they'd beg forgiveness for whatever terrible new thing they'd done. Sometimes they would whisper about how afraid they were, or how sorry they were, or how they wished they'd never taken the Dark Mark. Sometimes they'd cry. Other times they'd just tell me, over and over, how sorry they were. Just… that they were sorry."

Hermione frowned at her.

"But they're Death Eaters," she said.

Luna's mouth twisted into a sad smile.

"They might wear the mark, and they might go by the title, but while I was there I found that they're really just…. People. They've got hopes and dreams. Some of them have families they're worried about. Some of them just want to be able to go to sleep at night without being hauled from slumber to the burning in their arm. They just… they're tired too, Hermione. So tired. I think they hoped that the instigation of the Hunt would… maybe… give them all the chance to be connected to someone and to start families, you know? They just want to be normal people. I think they're tired of the torture and the killing and the manipulation."

Hermione frowned, supposing that the girl might have a point, even if she didn't particularly have to like it.

"And you? Are you going to be alright, Luna?" Hermione asked. "You're stuck with Rabastan for life."

"I know," Luna said, wiping at her eyes when they filled with tears once more. "You're stuck with Rowle, too. Maybe even with Carrow and Dolohov, too, depending on the effects of the ritual."

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked, softly.

Luna laughed bitterly one more time. "The only thing we can do. Wait out the war apart from them and try to figure things out when the fighting is all over."

Hermione closed her eyes just as Molly came bustling back into the room with food and fresh clothes and more potions to give them. While the dear woman fussed over the two of them, Hermione found herself thinking that, no matter Luna's suggestion, she would be doing a bit more than just accepting this nonsense.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you all so much for being as excited about this fic as me. I really never expected the reception this one has received. I hope you like the newest update.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

No amount of research or attempts to sever the bond between her and Rowle had been effective, and as she sat inside the Burrow alongside Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Luna, Hermione found herself rubbing at her chest absentmindedly.

They'd broken in Gringotts with surprising ease, as a matter of fact. Luna's betrothal to Rabastan granted her access to his vault and it had been as easy as allowing the Goblins to see her wedding band and to examine her magic to find that she was his bonded witch. After that, they had calmly and professionally allowed Luna access to the vault without question, escorting her down to the vault and allowing her as long as she liked to search the chamber until she found the cup of Helga Hufflepuff. Luna had only learned of its existence from Rabastan to begin with when he'd drunkenly confessed to her during one of their chats while she'd been a prisoner that the Dark Lord had placed something very important inside the Lestrange family vault.

It hadn't taken much of a leap for Hermione to surmise that it must be a horcrux, and they'd been quick to claim it and to dispose of it with the Sword of Gryffindor. They all knew that the time was coming that they would have to go to Hogwarts in search of the final few horcruxes, and Hermione knew that in no time at all, there would be a battle.

Before she could open her mouth to address the growing sense of unease prickling the back of her neck, a patronus in the shape of an owl flew in through the window and Hermione glanced over at it curiously.

"Luna?" the voice of Xenophilius Lovegood said softly. "Luna, my Luna… I think your husband has come to call on me. He is… in bad shape. Come quickly, please."

"Dad," Luna said, her brow furrowing even as she rose to her feet immediately, preparing to apparate.

"It might be a trap," Ron cautioned, also rising.

"I'll come with you," Hermione promised Luna softly as she got to her feet.

Hermione knew that, much like she had been doing, Luna had been suffering in the months that had followed their escape from Malfoy Manor. Luna had said that more than sixth months would be unbearable for all parted bond mates, and Hermione knew now that it was true. The ache in her chest was consistent and painful, never letting up, no matter what she tried.

"We'll all come," Harry declared.

"No," Luna said simply. "If Rabastan _is_ there, it will be dangerous for you three."

She pointed at Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

"She's right," Hermione said. "You share no connection with any of the Death Eaters. If it's Lestrange, he will be seeking out Luna and won't be able to hurt her. All the lore says he won't be able to hurt her."

"It won't stop him from hurting _you_ ," Harry pointed out.

"It's unlikely that Rabastan will be alone. Rowle is probably with him. Daddy said they're in bad shape… I expect they'll be suffering the effects of being parted from us for too long," Luna said softly. "Stay here. If we're not back in three days, storm Hogwarts and we will meet you on the battlefield."

"You can't be serious," Ron protested. "Hermione… you can't. Not after what those fuckers did to you."

Hermione smiled tightly.

"I can't let Luna go alone, Ron. Not after she raided the Lestrange vault. He might be there to confront her about it." Hermione argued softly. "We'll be ok. We got out last time, yeah? And we don't have to worry about them killing us. If Rowle is there, he won't be able to hurt me, no matter how badly he might want to."

Ron looked stricken, and Hermione knew that he hadn't dealt with her marriage just yet. He'd been ignoring it, refusing to see the wedding band on her finger, and trying to act like they were still a couple, instead. He didn't want to be faced with the hard truth that, unless one of them died in the war, she and Rowle would be stuck together for eternity. Not that she blamed him. No matter the research, or the growing ache in her chest, she knew she hadn't actually processed that she had shagged him that night and that they were married.

Bonded.

Linked for eternity.

No matter the frequent flashes of memory that danced through her mind of running from him through the forest and being pinned under him on the forest floor while he ravished her so thoroughly and laid claim to her so assuredly, Hermione hadn't really allowed herself to think of him as her husband. She couldn't. She didn't even know the man, if she was being honest.

What little she did know had been scrounged from her own memory, in addition to quizzing Fred and George about him, knowing he'd been in their year at Hogwarts. Other than that he'd been a shit-stirrer always tormenting others at school, and that he'd been on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and then accepted into the Leagues to play for the Ballycastle Bats before being outed as a Death Eater, she hadn't managed to turn up much about him.

"Please don't go," Ron whispered, reaching for her and pulling her into his arms.

Hermione returned the embrace and squeaked in pained surprise when Ron mashed his lips against her, stealing a kiss and obviously thinking that somehow doing so might undo her soul bond with Rowle.

"I have to go, Ron," Hermione said, squirming out of his grip and wiping her hand over her mouth, trying to ignore the painful flare inside her chest at the intimate touch. "None of us like it, but I'm bonded to Rowle. There's nothing for it. And please don't kiss me ever again. It hurts."

She clutched at her chest, trying to control her breathing.

"Come on, Hermione," Luna said, holding out her hand.

Hermione took it and let the other witch lead her out the door, looking back over her shoulder at her friends. As soon as they were outside of the house, Luna Disapparated them both the short distance to her home.

Peering up at the structure, Hermione couldn't help but smile at the kite flying high above the house, in addition to the Dirigible Plums floating by the doorway. Nothing looked amiss, she noticed, though the front door was open. Luna squeezed her hand tightly before hurrying up the stairs and into the house.

Hermione held her breath as they crossed the threshold.

"Daddy?" Luna called, her wand drawn and her face hard as she scanned the kitchen for any sign of her father.

Hermione's heart flipped when, in addition to spying Xenophilius cringing by the kettle, she spotted Rabastan Lestrange and Thorfinn Rowle seated at the kitchen table. Both of them looked like hell, she noticed immediately.

Rowle had dark circles under his eyes, and he was clutching at his chest as though it pained him terribly. His eyes lit upon her the minute she walked into the room, and Hermione knew she wasn't the only one who's stomach backflipped.

Lestrange looked even worse.

His face was bloody, his nose a little crooked, and he had a cut on his lip as though he'd been beaten up recently. He slumped in his chair looking like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life, and when he turned dull eyes in their direction, Hermione suspected he _had_ been.

"Rabastan?" Luna asked, her brow furrowing as she took a hesitant step in his direction.

"Hey, you," he said in a low, pained voice, looking very much like the effort of talking was more than he could bear.

"Merlin, what have they done to you?" Luna whispered. "Your aura is all…. Blotchy."

Rabastan's lips twisted and Hermione noticed the way the split upon the lower one cracked open, blood beading upon his skin as he wore so bitter and expression.

"You been in my vault, darling?" he asked, his green eyes fixed on the pretty blonde witch.

Luna took a small step back, and Hermione raised her wand threateningly, ready to blast both Death Eaters into oblivion if they tried anything.

Rabastan snorted.

"Take that as a yes," he muttered, slanting a glance sideways at Rowle before looking back at Luna. "How'd you know it was in there, Luna?"

Luna gulped audibly and looked up at Hermione for a minute.

"What's it to you?" Hermione asked, speaking for the girl, seeing how badly the younger witch wanted to cross the room and touch the Death Eater she'd been bound to. She wanted to run her hands over him and to heal his hurts.

Hermione knew. The same niggling urge to cross the room and touch Rowle was gnawing at her psyche, but she squashed it down.

"You told me," Luna whispered. "When you… When I was being held prisoner, you told me there was something special about Helga Hufflepuff's cup that was hidden away in your vault."

Rabastan frowned a little.

"Was I drunk?" he asked.

Luna nodded.

"Shit," Rabastan cursed, closing his eyes. "What've you done with it, darling?"

Luna looked at Hermione again.

"Is that important?" Luna asked.

"I'll be murdered if I don't get it back, so… yeah," Lestrange nodded.

"Oh… Um… you can't have it back, Rabastan," Luna said and she sounded almost apologetic. "It's…. we've… that is to say… erm…"

"We destroyed it," Hermione answered for her. "We know what it really was and what was so _special_ about it. We stabbed it with a sword imbued with Basilisk venom."

Hermione caught the way Rowle's eyes widened while Lestrange closed his in horror, his face paling.

"FUCK!" he shouted, pounding a fist on the kitchen table and causing Xenophilius to almost jump out of his skin. He dropped the teapot he'd been planning to carry over to the table, obviously a nervous but polite host.

Luna jumped, too, squeezing Hermione's hand tightly enough that she almost crushed it, and she seemed unable to keep from trying to comfort the wizard to whom she'd been bonded.

"Bass… I'm sorry," she whispered, letting go of Hermione's hand and stepping closing as the Death Eater wiped angrily at the blood on his lip before it could run down his chin. "I… Rabastan…"

Hermione gasped when the dark wizard lunged out of his chair, rising to his feet though it looked more painful than he could bear. He closed the short distance when himself and Luna, his hands lifting to wrap threateningly around her throat and Luna froze. Lunging, Hermione made to hex him, digging the tip of her wand into his neck.

Before she could blast him, Rabastan hissed out a sigh, some of his pain alleviating to be touching his bond-mate, once more. Hermione watched as he groaned before loosening his tight grip on Luna's throat, laying his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. A tear trickled from the corner of Luna's eyes and ran down her cheek to land on Lestrange's hand.

Hermione watched him open his eyes at the feel, his brow furrowing before he brushed his hand over Luna's cheek, wiping it away. He leaned in a kissed her despite the wand dug into his neck, and Hermione knew from the way Luna practically melted against him that he wasn't going to hurt her, and that the girl certainly didn't object.

Sighing, Hermione stepped back, lowering her wand once more and pitying poor Xenophilius, who looked stricken to be witnessing his daughter snogging a known and dangerous dark wizard. Shaking her head, and flicking her wand to repair the broken teapot, Hermione did her best to ignore Rowle as he sat at the table eyeing her like he wanted to strangle her, and also like he wanted to throw her down on the table and fuck her until she screamed.

"Mr Lovegood, why don't you take a short walk?" Hermione suggested when a little whimper of sound escaped Luna as Lestrange wrapped his arms around the petite witch, clearly caught up in the magic of their bonding and forgetting that they had an audience. "I'm… uh…. I don't think you want to see this and you might be safer… elsewhere."

"My Luna," Xenophilius whispered, looking forlornly at the girl before looking over at Hermione, his expression tortured.

"Go on," Hermione told him, squeezing his arm. "There's nothing you can do to help her, right now. She'll be safe here. I'll protect her."

Xenophilius nodded, his lower lip trembling before he took a bracing breath in and Disapparated, clearly unable to stand it. Hermione shook her head, glancing at Luna and Lestrange again when Lestrange walked her backward across the kitchen and pushed her up against the closed front door, still snogging her hotly.

"Fuck," Hermione heard Rabastan groan when they pair came up for air. "I need you, witch."

He ground himself against Luna suggestively and Luna peered around the kitchen.

"Not here," she whispered.

"Where?" Lestrange asked.

"Um… upstairs… My… my bedroom," Luna managed, her hand tangled in his dark hair as she pressed herself against the wizardly snugly.

Hermione didn't at all like the sound of that, not wanting to be left alone with Rowle and not entirely trusting Lestrange not to kidnap the girl again. Then again, he was supposed to be hunting down the Horcrux they'd stolen and he would probably be killed if he returned without it. He could hardly go back without it.

"Show me?" Lestrange said, burying his face against Luna's neck, kissing her delicate flesh and fisting handfuls of her loose blonde hair.

Luna met Hermione's eyes for a moment over Lestrange's shoulder, her expression begging Hermione's forgiveness for her weakness even as she took Lestrange's hand, intent on leading him upstairs. Hermione gulped, turning her attention to the teapot she'd been steeping, trying to keep from looking at Rowle lest she do something foolish. She didn't know what to say to him. He hadn't spoken since she'd walked in, though Hermione knew he hadn't taken his eyes off her.

"Princess?" he asked finally after five long minutes of strained silence that was broken only by the faintest creaking of bedsprings overhead.

"Don't call me that, Rowle," Hermione said tightly, refusing to look at him.

She heard him snort in annoyance, but she didn't dare look over her shoulder. If she looked at him, she might lose all willpower and fling herself at him, begging him to ravish her right there on the kitchen floor. She couldn't stand it. Her hand pressed to her aching chest as it throbbed terribly, Hermione tried to control her breathing, trying to keep from giving in, trying to maintain some restraint.

She didn't hear him get out of his chair and cross the kitchen. She didn't see him close the distance between them. She didn't know he was closing in on her until the minute his arms encircled her from behind and he moulded himself against her back, breathing out a low groan of contentment at the touch.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: *skips in, giggling all the while***

 ***fishes into her basket of chapters***

 ***takes one out, giggling some more as she hands it over***

 ***skips away, smirking.***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

Thorfinn groaned as he buried his face in her wild curls and wrapped his witch into his arms. The ache in his chest lessened almost immediately and he almost cried in relief, feeling like the Erumpent dancing on his chest had _finally_ buggered off. In his arms, his witch whimpered like she was being tortured, and he felt the way her body went rigid at the feel of his touch before she melted back against him, surrendering her weight to his embrace.

He could hear the uneven tempo of her breath and he could feel the way her heart raced inside her chest. Clutching her against him, Thorfinn closed his eyes, breathing in the coconut scent of her shampoo and holding her close.

"Let me go," she said quietly after a few minutes of simply standing there and touching him.

"Can't do that, Princess," Thorfinn disagreed. "Fucking hell, it's been torture being away from you."

He heard the little indrawn gasp she took at the admission and he loosened his hold just enough to let her turn in his arms to face him. She peered up at him, her brow furrowed, and Thorfinn's cock twitched, wanting to ravish her right there against the kitchen counter. He couldn't deny it. He'd missed her. He didn't even fucking know her, but she was his wife and she was his witch and he'd been in agony being kept apart from her for so long.

"You shouldn't be here," she told him, frowning at him. "Let go, Rowle."

"No," he shook his head, tangling his hands into her loose curls and wondering what the odds were that she'd refrain from biting him if he tried to kiss her.

"Yes," she stomped her foot. "Just because we have this stupid…. Bond…. Does not mean you can manhandle me. Get off."

"So fucking stubborn," Thorfinn laughed, shaking his head and eyeing her almost fondly. "Can't you just admit you missed me too and you've been in agony since you _ran out on me_!?"

"No," she shook her head. "I didn't miss you. I don't even know you."

"You want to?" he offered, raising one eyebrow.

"Not really," she answered meanly and Thorfinn laughed again.

 _Such_ a fucking bitch, his witch.

"Don't be like that, Princess. You're not still put out with me about the Hunt, are you?"

"You raped me!" she hissed.

"Bullshit," Thorfinn said. "I might've run you down and tackled you, but you were kissing me back and whining for more before I took you, baby girl."

"I'd been forced-fed a potent aphrodisiac," she hissed. "I also snogged Carrow and traded orgasms with her that night and I don't even like women!"

Thorfinn sighed.

"Are you always going to be this contrary, Granger?" he asked.

"Contrary?" she snarled. "CONTRARY? You think that my accusing you of rape is just me being _contrary_? Where's my wand? I'm going to hex you until you sprout some bloody sense!"

Thorfinn laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's not how it works, Princess."

She screeched at him in annoyance, flailing in his arms and trying to snag her wand off the sink where she'd dropped it when he'd come up behind her and stolen her willpower.

"I hate you," she spat at him. "I hated you at Hogwarts and I hate you even more, now. Just get off me!"

Thorfinn sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and stepping back, pocketing her wand before holding up his hands in surrender.

"Don't have a bloody hippogriff about it, Princess," he said.

"A… you… give me my fucking wand right now, you ridiculous, oversized, smirking, bloody… Viking!"

She looked ready to have a conniption, obviously struggling to find ways to aptly describe him and Thorfinn laughed at her, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest, sticking his hands into his armpits to keep from reaching for her again when she looked ready to explode at him. He traced his eyes over her as she raged, stomping closer to him and obviously intending to raid his pockets to get her wand back if she had to.

Fuck, she was cute.

Thorfinn smirked down at her when she beat her fists against his chest in her fury, obviously beyond enraged. He couldn't help it, though he expected his expression wasn't helping matters. She was just so bloody adorable when she raged like that. He could see his own formidable temper reflected back at him, right there on her face, and he reckoned if he pushed hard enough, she'd set something on fire the way he was so prone to doing.

"You done?" he asked, when she stopped speaking and instead began trying to get her hands into the pockets of his cloak.

"No," she snapped. "You're a barbarian."

"Sweet talker," Thorfinn smirked. "Come on, baby, you know it's not in that pocket."

She narrowed her eyes on him and Thorfinn smirked, reaching out and sliding his hands around her waist and down her back to rest intimately on her arse, patting the back pocket of her jeans.

"I'm going to kill you," she informed him coldly.

"Get in line," Thorfinn shrugged. "Are you going to keep hissing, or can I fuck you now?"

She spluttered at him, rage morphing her features and Thorfinn couldn't hold back his laugh.

"Come on, Granger. I know you want me. You're running your hands all over me when you know exactly which pocket your wand is in. Just stop fighting me for ten minutes and let me fuck you until the last remnants of that ache in your chest are gone, yeah?"

"No," she said. "I don't want you to make it go away. I don't want you to touch me."

"Liar," Thorfinn smirked. "Come on. Are we going to play this game forever, beautiful? You wanted me back at Hogwarts, you wanted me the night of the Hunt, and you want me now. You don't have to hide it from me, Princess. I want you, too."

She emitted another screech of frustration, pounding her fists against his chest all over again, and Thorfinn rode out the violence, knowing he could break her. Knowing she wanted him, too. Knowing she was going as mad for it as he was.

When she reached up and knotted her hands in his hair, pulling his face down to hers and stealing a kiss from his lips, Thorfinn couldn't entirely hold back his triumphant chuckle. He got himself a bitten lip for it, too, but Thorfinn didn't care when she parted those sweet lips and traced her tongue against his.

Sweet fucking Circe, he'd been horny for _months_ , unable to fuck anyone else and going out of his head for this bloody witch. Using his grip on her arse, Thorfinn hauled her up his body until she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her across the kitchen and into the lounge just off it, Thorfinn snogged her hard, grinding himself against her as he laid her down on the couch.

She rocked her hips, grinding against him in return, and Thorfinn had to grit his teeth to keep from coming right then. She was pulling at his shirt before he could get a hold of himself and Thorfinn groaned when she raked her nails up his back just hard enough to sting. Fucking Merlin, he was going to destroy this woman. Peeling her out of her shirt in return, Thorfinn kissed his way along her jaw and down her neck, leaving as many love bites as he could, the sweet mewls he drew form her like music to his ears.

She was fumbling with his belt when he latched onto her right nipple and she huffed out an expletive, arching into the caress like she couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck," she whispered. "Gods, Rowle, stop _teasing_!"

Thorfinn smirked.

One day, when he wasn't in danger of ruining his boxers because he hadn't been laid in almost seven months, Thorfinn was going to take his sweet time teasing this witch until she _begged_ him to fuck her. But not today. Unfastening her jeans, Thorfinn pulled back from her just far enough to yank them down her legs. She unbuckled his belt as he did so, the rasp of his fly making him shudder just as much as the feel of her hands fumbling so close to his junk.

Fuck, he'd never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted this witch. When he had her naked, Thorfinn worked two fingers inside of her tight cunt, pleased to find her wet and ready for him, knowing he didn't have the patience or the restraint to work her into it slowly. Not today.

"Hurry up," she growled at him, fisting his hair and pulling him toward her once more, stealing a hot kiss from his lips.

"Bossy little thing, aren't you?" he taunted, smirking at her as he settled himself in the cradle of her hips, poised to drive into her.

She responded by reaching for his cock, curling her hand around him and guiding him to her entrance. When she dug her heels into his arse cheeks, Thorfinn hissed, sinking inside her slow and deep.

"Fucking hell," Thorfinn groaned, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, trying to hold back, not ready to finish so soon when they'd just started.

"Oh my god," he heard her groan, feeling her arch under him, her pussy clenching around him so tight that he was going to fucking lose it

"Not helping, Princess. Fuck!" Thorfinn cursed, pulling back and slamming into her hard enough to make her teeth crack together. She mewled in response, her heels still digging into him, making him crazy, pulling him in deeper and harder.

"Fuck," he heard her whisper as she rolled her hips. "Fuck!"

She tipped her head back as she arched again, drawing him deeper, making him crazy. Thorfinn latched onto her throat as she exposed it. Nipping her. Kissing her. Licking her soft skin. Trying to count to a million in his head, determined to break her before he lost control.

"I hate you," she whispered breathlessly. "I hate you so fucking much."

Thorfinn smirked.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Princess," he taunted, his voice husky, his teeth raking over her earlobe and drawing a low whine from her lips.

He fucked her hard then, jerking back and slamming into her again and again and again. She hissed when he curled one of her legs up over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving impossibly deeper.

"Fucking Merlin, you're so bloody tight, you bitch," Thorfinn cursed when she clamped down on him.

"Ungh," she groaned, her back arching, her expression pulling into one of fierce delight, her nails raking down his back as he broke her.

"Thank fucking Merlin!" Thorfinn groaned, bucking harder, losing control, finally letting himself come.

She whined and rocked her hips all the way through as he shot her full of himself and Thorfinn blinked his eyes open dizzily, wondering if it was actually possible for a bloke to pass out from a really good fuck.

Collapsing on top of her, Thorfinn didn't even care if he was crushing her. From the way she curled her arms around him, pulling him down on her more firmly, he didn't think she minded.

"I hate you," she muttered in his ear.

"I hate you too, Princess," Thorfinn smirked against her shoulder.

"I can't put up with you forever," she said sternly.

"You haven't got a choice. And it's not like you're any bloody better than me, witch. You're not exactly a delight."

She nipped his shoulder just sharp enough to sting, still clinging to him like she couldn't bear to meet his gaze. Thorfinn chuckled.

"You know there's no way this can work," she told him.

"Granger, we're bloody married, it's little late to try and let me down easy," he scoffed, pulling back far enough that he could meet her gaze. "You're wearing my ring, and your soul is matched to mine. This is as good at it gets, baby girl."

"We'll kill each other," she said. "I don't even _know_ you."

"She says, with my cock still buried inside her," he said dryly.

"What do you want from me, Rowle?" she huffed. "All I knew about you when we were at Hogwarts was that you were a ruthless, mean-spirited, Quidditch playing menace. You pulled my pig-tails and you taunted me constantly, and we snogged _one_ time in a broom cupboard when I was drunk and distraught. Other than what your career was before you became a Death Eater, I know nothing else about you. I don't know if you have siblings, or if your parents are both alive and still married, or what you Mum's name is, or where you live or what you do for fun when you're not acting on the orders of a megalomaniac. I don't know anything about you."

"You will," he shrugged. "In time. If you stop running away all the time. You ran away from me in that bloody cupboard when we were interrupted, and you ran away from me after the Hunt, and I'll bet that the minute I get off you, you're going to try and run away from me again. You could've spent the last seven months getting to know me more intimately than you know yourself, but you ran off instead. I'm still pissed about that, by the way."

"Did you actually think I would hang around?" she scoffed. "You're a Death Eater, Rowle. You're one of the bad guys, playing on the wrong team in this bloody war. I'm a member of the Order. I'm Harry's best friend. I'm a muggleborn. How do you imagine this mess could ever work when you're master wants to wipe people like me off the face of the planet and _I_ am opposed to it?"

"Well, the war will be over soon, yeah?" he said.

"Sooner than you think," she informed him coolly and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on her, wondering just what she meant. "And then what? _If_ we both manage to survive the battle, and _if_ the Order wins, then _you_ will be arrested for a Death Eater and tried for your crimes."

"They won't imprison me as long as your free," Thorfinn smirked. "The Ministry doesn't like to part bonded souls for more than six months. And even if I am imprisoned, it won't be in Azkaban, after what the Dark Lord did to it."

"And then what?" she challenged. "Eventually they'll let you go, and then what? You think you're just going to shack up with me like you're not a murderous rapist and an arsonist, to boot?"

"You really think you can live without me, Princess?" Thorfinn smirked. "Come on. I watched you walk in here clutching at your chest because that ache from being parted was bloody unbearable. You and me have no choice but to bloody get used to each other, and if that has to take place shacked up somewhere with you, I'll do it."

Granger was shaking her head from side to side, looking at him in horror as though she thought he'd gone mad. Maybe he had. Thorfinn couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that the little bitch had caught his eye at Hogwarts even before she'd showed the world how bloody pretty she could be. She'd outwitted him, and she'd stood her ground against him whenever he tormented her – which had been often – and she'd never once backed down just because he was bigger and meaner than her.

"Get off me," she commanded and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on her.

"I'm not done with you, yet," he protested.

"Yes, you are," she said. "I need to rescue Luna from Lestrange, and then I need to be getting back."

"You actually think I'm going to let you run away again, baby girl?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow at her.

She glared at him.

"You can't stop me," she said.

"I reckon I can," he argued.

She narrowed her eyes, taking in his much larger stature and his grim determination.

"You're not ready for me, yet," she argued, changing tactics, and Thorfinn kind of hated her for being smart enough to know when being obstinate would just make him want to prove her wrong.

"Bullshit," he said.

"You're not," she assured him. "You're still a Death Eater, and we're still at war."

"I can't go back. Neither can Bass. Not if you lot destroyed that bloody cup. He'll be murdered on the spot."

"Well, I'm hardly taking the two of you home with me," she rolled her eyes. "Until the fighting is done, you'll just be in my way and I don't have time for distractions."

"I like that you admit I'm distracting."

"Mmm, rather like an irksome mosquito buzzing about my ear," she said meanly.

Thorfinn smirked.

"I bite like one, too," he told her before leaning in and nipping her neck.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I contract something from you that makes me itch, either," she said nastily, though she tilted her head just a little to give him better access when he nipped her a second time before laving the sting with his tongue.

"You're such a bitch," he muttered into her neck, rolling his hips and wondering if he'd be able to go again so soon.

"Get used to it," she retorted.

"Sticking with me after all, then?" he smirked.

"No," she said before twisting under him and somehow wriggling free of his embrace.

She rolled to her hands and knees on the carpet before snatching up her clothes and retreating across the room, intent on dressing herself.

"You know you won't ever actually be free of me, don't you?" he asked. "Eventually, even if the ache in your chest doesn't drive you mad, your libido will, and then you'll have to seek me out."

"Until then, I'm going to go back to pretending you don't exist," she huffed.

"Come on, Princess, don't be like that," he smirked, rolling to sprawl across the couch and smirking at the way her gaze was drawn to his cock before she could even get her knicker back on.

"I can't be married to you," she shook her head, sounding disbelieving.

"You are," he said, holding out an arm in her direction, wondering if she would accept the invitation to return to his embrace.

"I can't stand you," she said,

"Liar," Thorfinn smirked. "We both know you had a thing for me back at Hogwarts, Granger."

"You were the one who said you've wanted to fuck me since you were sixteen," she argued.

"And I did," he nodded, not bothering to deny it. "Spent a lot of years wanting to fuck you, Princess. Still want to fuck you."

"You just did," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but I want to do it again," he said, looking over at her hopefully.

"Are you always this blunt?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Yep," he grinned. "Come here, Granger."

"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to fuck you again. I didn't have a thing for you at school."

"Tell it to my face, rather than my cock, love," he chuckled, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed crimson as her eyes snapped up to meet his.

"I didn't," she said.

"You looked at me often enough."

"How would you know?" she rolled her eyes.

"I was looking at you, stupid," he smirked. "And I caught you looking every time I walked by. Tracing your eyes over me in my Quidditch gear. Undressing me with your eyes when I was in uniform. You couldn't stop looking."

"If I was ever looking at you, it was with wariness of whatever new hex or insult you'd fling in my direction that day," she sniffed, though her cheeks darkened again.

"Yeah, sure," he taunted. "You just happened to be on guard _all_ the time when I was around."

"You were vicious," she argued.

"I was flirting," he disagreed. "And you flirted right back. Don't pretend you didn't. Most of the time I was this close to asking you on a date to Hogsmeade, but every time I did, your little ginger friend would come out of nowhere and distract you before pulling you away. Reckon that kid's the biggest cock-block I've ever met. And I say that being close friends with Bass."

"You expect me to believe you wanted to date me back at school?" she asked skeptically.

Thorfinn clicked his fingers at her, his arm still outstretched, hoping she'd come closer just so he could bloody touch her.

"I _did_ want to date you," he said quietly, letting the smirk fall off his face. "I even asked you to the Yule Ball, but you turned me down."

"You…" she frowned at him. "You did not. The only people who asked me were Viktor, and the Ron, when he couldn't find anyone else to go with."

Thorfinn raised his eyebrows in challenge.

"Fourth floor corridor, after fifth period. You were on your way to the library and I was on my way out of Transfiguration," he informed her. "I purposely walked into you and stole your books to make you talk to me, and told you I'd give the books back if you'd go with me to the Yule Ball."

She frowned, obviously not remembering.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking like she doubted the story. "I don't remember you asking me."

"You kicked me in the shins and hit me with a Leg-Locker Curse before snatching the books from me as I fell over," Thorfinn told her. "And you never did answer me about coming to the Ball. You just stomped off in a huff and left me there."

"Oh, don't make out like you were the victim, Rowle. You stole my books. You _always_ stole my books."

"Maybe I was trying to be a gentleman and carry them to your classes for you?" he pointed out, frowning at her. "Come on, Princess. I _know_ you're a clever one. You had to have figured that out."

"You _never_ walked me to class," she scoffed.

"Bullshit, I didn't," he argued. "You just never noticed because you spent every bloody walk snarking at me and trying to get your books back."

"You expect me to believe that you fancied me? That you carried my books and you wanted to date me? You…." She frowned at him.

"We're soul-matched, darling," he reminded her, rolling his eyes. "Of course, I bloody fancied you. Didn't realise it at the time, obviously, since I had no clue until the night of the Hunt that we were actually _matched_ , but I bloody recognized that you were special, and I thought I did all the right things to get your attention."

"You never asked me out," she pointed out.

"I asked you to the Ball. And I offered to escort you to Hogsmeade a couple of times, actually, but I think you thought I was kidding because you never met up with me when I waited for you and you always had that pair of tossers with you whenever you went."

"I…" she frowned again, her brow furrowing and Thorfinn clicked his fingers at her again, grinning when, in her distraction, she crossed the room back to where he was stretched out on the couch and dropped down to perch on the edge of it beside him.

Unable to resist, especially since she hadn't managed to get her jeans back on yet, Thorfinn smoothed his hand over her bare thigh, turning her in his grip until she faced him more fully before pulling her down until she rested against his chest.

She blinked when she realized how much closer to him she was.

"You… waited for me by the doors?" she asked, seeming to recall spotting him loitering there a couple of times.

Thorfinn nodded.

"But… you never said anything," she said, clearly confused.

"I said plenty," Thorfinn argued. "You just weren't listening. You took it all as me taking the piss and making fun of you."

"You expect me to believe you were obsessed with me?" she asked, looking doubtful.

"Oi, now obsessed is a strong word, Princess. I admit I wanted to push you up against every flat surface to fuck you silly, and I'll admit I was pretty keen on gaining your attention, but I wasn't _obsessed._ "

"You just said you waited for me by the doors _without_ having confirmed that I'd be your date," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, no one said _I_ was the bright one in this marriage," Thorfinn huffed, scowling at her.

She shook her head slowly from side to side.

"Why on Earth did you want to date me?" she asked. "I was always rude to you. You were rude to me, too. You made fun of my hair and you stole my books and you taunted me about being too clever and made fun of my friends and pushed me around. We dueled more than once."

"That's how I show affection, Princess," Thorfinn chuckled. "I rough-house, and I tease, and I poke fun, and I carry your bloody books even though you spend all your time trying to get them back."

She frowned at him in confusion.

"If you'd really wanted to shag me since third year, Thorfinn, the how in Merlin's name did _this_ end up on your arm?" she challenged, picking up his left arm and waving it, glaring at his Dark Mark. "You _knew_ I was muggleborn, and you still joined the team trying to eradicate muggleborns."

"The Dark Lord is trying to eradicate _muggles_ , not mudbloods, Princess," he pointed out.

She hit him.

" _Don't_ use the word mudblood, Rowle. Death Eater or not, if you want to sit there and try to convince me I'd be better of staying married to you, rather than murdering you, you had just better delete that word from your vocabulary. My blood is _not_ dirty!"

"Not dirty, no," he shook his head, frowning at her in return. "Tainted. You've got muggle genes running through you even thought you're a witch. That means you're more likely to conceive non-magic offspring. That's where it springs from. A fear of birthing squibs because the comingling of magical and muggle blood can have whacky consequences. Just like you were born from two long lines of muggles, a witch and wizard can birth a squib kid if the muggle gene is introduced into the gene pool. It doesn't mean you're dirty or filthy. It just means you're tainted with muggle blood and warns that interaction with you to the point of conception _could_ result in non-magical children."

She was staring at him in disgust by the time he stopped speaking.

"Merlin, you actually _believe_ that horseshit," she whispered, looking like she wanted to slap him silly and a bit like she thought he was something unpleasant she'd found stuck to the rim of a public rubbish bin.

"Granger, don't look at me like that," he warned, frowning at her and sitting up quickly when she tried to pull out of his grasp. "I don't think less of you for your blood status. You're my fucking soul-match, and you're my wife. All I'm saying is that from a scientific standpoint your contribution to the magical gene pool _could_ incorporate non-magical children. It's unlikely, because to be muggleborn you actually _have_ to be more magically powerful, but just like the recessive gene I carry for blue eyes, you carry recessive non-magical genes. It's basic fact. And don't you point that finger at me, witch."

"You joined the Death Eaters for science, is that what you're telling me?" she demanded. "You hate people like me _so_ much that you signed on with that fucking psychopath?"

"I _hate_ muggles," Thorfinn snarled at her. "My mother was murdered by a fucking muggle shortly after the Dark Lord retook his corporeal form. So yeah, I joined the fucking Death Eaters and yeah, I've killed more of them than you'd care to know, _including_ the cunt who kill my Mum. Don't you dare sit there and snarl at me for getting off my arse and fighting for something I believe in!"

"You realize my parents are muggles, yeah?" she hissed at him. "Your mother-in-law and father-in-law are some of those supposedly 'filthy' muggles you hate so fucking much."

"My mother and father-in-law have had their memories wiped and have no idea _you_ exist, baby girl," Thorfinn said darkly. "And _that_ one is on you."

"How do you know about that?"

"What? You thought that wiping their memories and sending them away was for nothing?" he scoffed. "One of the first things the Dark Lord did when you, Potter and Weasley went missing was to send the brethren after the muggles who raised Potter and to send them hunting your parents. I've been to your house, Princess. I know all the photos on the walls have had you erased from them. I know they packed up their lives and relocated to Australia."

"You found them?" she asked, suddenly stricken.

"You should've stuck around long enough to make sure they didn't leave a forwarding address," Thorfinn said. "And you better be fucking grateful that I _am_ a Death Eater, otherwise one of the others would have been sent after them and would've followed that forwarding address to Australia to capture them and drag them back here in chains to torture you. But because I _am_ a Death Eater and I _do_ fucking fancy you, _I_ burned their dental practice in London to the ground so that no one else would be able to find them _and_ I wiped the memories of all their past employees, regular patients, and colleagues so that no one would remember they existed."

She blinked stupidly at him for the admission and Thorfinn glared at her fiercely.

"You..." she began before trailing off, seeming to have no idea what to say to that.

"Yeah," Thorfinn huffed. "Me. The sorry git you're stuck with for the rest of your bloody life, whether either of us like it or not."

She looked bewildered, blinking at him before sighing heavily, suddenly weary. He watched her drop her face into her hands with no small amount of frustration. He didn't know what to do with her. They had a fairly complicated problem, what with their opposing loyalties and limited interactions.

"This is just... a nightmare," she muttered between her fingers. "Why did you have to be a Death Eater?"

"If I wasn't, we'd never have known we were soul matched and you'd never have given me the time of day. Three years at Hogwarts proved that."

"Maybe that would have been better. We're doomed to wind up like Carrow and Dolohov, you know? They despise each other. You saw how they treated each other during the Hunt."

Thorfinn sighed.

"We're not that bad," he promised. "I want to redden your arse, but I don't want to strangle you, Princess."

She narrowed her eyes on him, lifting her head from her hands to glare at him.

"You realise nothing good can come of this as long as we're at war, don't you?" She asked.

He nodded, cracking his neck slowly.

"And after?" He asked.

"I don't know," she said. "We hardly have much say in it. It's not like divorce is an option."

He snorted. "No, not really."

"You know I have to go, don't you?" She asked. "Harry needs me, and there will be no happy ending if You Know Who wins."

"I can't go back," Thorfinn shrugged. "Me and Bass are in some trouble."

"What did you do?" She asked. "Him, I understand since the horcrux was in his vault and he told Luna it was there. But what did you do?"

Thorfinn's mouth twisted and Hermione frowned at him, trying to figure him out. He didn't want to tell her that the brethren had it out for him because he was married to her and because he'd let it slip that he bloody fancied her.

"I married you," he replied bitterly, sighing. "You're Undesirable Number Two in the Dark Lord's books and you've been thwarting him alongside Potter for months and months. By mere association with you through marriage, I've lost standing. All of us who were matched to members of the Order have, if I'm honest. The Dark Lord thinks it reflects poorly on our character to be fated to someone who could join the Order."

"They've been shunning you over something you had no say in, and something _He_ forced to occur?" she asked, and the indignancy in her tone almost made Thorfinn laugh.

"No one said he was fucking logical, Princess," Thorfinn shrugged. "Anyway, me and Bass are pretty much on the run since you lot took the cup and got away with it. You said you destroyed it?"

She nodded her head.

"Do I want to know why?" he asked. "Stabbing a chalice with a basilisk fang seems extreme. What does the Dark Lord want with a bit of ancient treasure, anyway?"

She twisted her lips into a mean little smile that made Thorfinn nervous.

"Your precious Dark Lord has a secret or two, Rowle," she sneered. "The biggest being that, in his quest for immortality, he made a collection of Horcruxes. Do you know what they are?"

Oh, he'd fucking heard of those, alright. Fuck!

"He…. Fuck!" Thorfinn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. "But that means he'll live forever… it's how he came back after Potter defeated him at Godric's Hollow as a baby, isn't it?"

Granger nodded, and Thorfinn cursed again, running a hand through his hair.

"We're doomed," he muttered. "If he's made those he's immortal and he'll fucking hunt us down like dogs if we don't return. I'm screwed."

"Oh, he's not immortal," she interrupted. "Why do you think we're destroying them, Thorfinn? He will be dead, and soon, if we have anything to say about it. The Order believes he made seven, in total. There are only three left."

"Three!" Thorfinn hissed.

She nodded again.

"That's three too many, Princess! Fuck. I can't live in a world where he can reign as Dark Lord for fucking eternity. How do we destroy them? What are the others? Where are they?"

She frowned at him.

"What? You're switching sides just like that?" she asked.

"I'm a self-serving Slytherin, baby girl. It's my neck or his, right? If I go back, I'll be tortured, demoted, possibly even killed. Bass _will_ be killed on the spot if we return and he admits that Lovegood not only robbed his vault, but fucking _destroyed_ something as important as a piece of the Dark Lord's soul. He'll be murdered on sight. Probably by fucking Bella, if the Dark Lord doesn't beat her to it. You lot have basically guaranteed anarchy in the ranks. Because if Bass dies, Rodolphus will kill whoever put an end to his brother. Those fuckers are protective as hell, and even if it were Trix to cast the fucking curse, Rodolphus would murder the bitch with his bare hands, soul-matched or not."

She was shaking her head, looking baffled.

"I can't just… take you on home with me to the Order like you're not just trying to worm your way inside to stop us, Rowle," she argued. "You're a Death Eater. You tried to capture us. I'm not about to let you anywhere near Harry."

"I don't want to be anywhere near Potter. Not while the Dark Lord is still gunning for him, and I don't want you anywhere near him either. You'll be caught in the crossfire," Thorfinn said, narrowing his eyes on her.

"If you think I'm staying out of the fight or doing what you say like a good little girl, you're wrong," she warned him and Thorfinn thought about kidnapping her and chaining her to a bed in some cabin in the woods where he could fuck her to his heart's content and keep her safe from the likes of the Dark Lord and the brethren.

"Princess," he began, frowning at her and wondering what it might take to make her see reason.

"Don't you, 'Princess' me, Rowle," she snapped. "If you want to run from the Dark Lord, then run. But I won't be running with you. I'll be fighting alongside Harry and the rest of the Order when we go into battle, and if I die, well then, I bloody die, and you'll be free of me."

"I'm not going to let you die," he warned her. "Even if I have to go into fucking battle alongside you, I'm not letting you die on me, Granger."

She narrowed her eyes on him in annoyance.

"I don't believe you're being genuine," she said. "You just want to fuck me again, and then probably to hand me over to the Dark Lord."

Thorfinn doubted there was anything he'd be able to say to convince her otherwise, and he knew that she was going to fight him every step of the way if he tried to take her home with him, or to be taken home with her. If he tried to just shack up with her and turn his back on the brethren, he'd be a liability, in addition to being mistrusted.

"Finn?" Bass's hoarse voice came from the kitchen and Thorfinn frowned, reaching for his pants and his wand in a hurry.

"Bass?" he called back quietly, his wand trained on the doorway as he rose to his feet, wriggling into his jeans before stalking toward the kitchen doorway.

He could feel Granger behind him, and when he darted a look in her direction, she had her wand out, too. She shot him a narrow-eyed look, obviously suspecting trouble was afoot as surely as he did.

When they entered the kitchen, Bass was shirtless and his wounds were more obvious than ever, his torso black and blue with deep bruises. Lovegood was behind him, her wand similarly in her hand despite the fact that she seemed to only be wearing Rabastan's t-shirt. It was too big on the petite witch, falling to mid-thigh, and her feet were bare, her blonde hair all in a mess from Bass's attentions. They both had their wands trained on something across the kitchen and when Thorfinn followed their gazes, his stomach flipped nervously.

Dolohov and Carrow stood just inside the door, their wands out, their expressions unfriendly, and from the looks of them, their luck at an end. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were behind them, just making their way inside the house, and Thorfinn looked over at Granger, watching her eyes widen in horror at the sight of so many Death Eaters converging upon her and her friend.

"Well, doesn't this look cozy?" Bellatrix trilled in a sing-song voice that grated on Thorfinn's last fucking nerve.

Thorfinn darted a glance at Rabastan, and found the man already looking in his direction, rather than at the invaders.

"Swashbuckles?" Thorfinn asked of his friend quietly, and Rabastan's eyebrows shot up before he nodded sharply, just once.

Without a second thought upon seeing that nod, Thorfinn reached back and snagged a hold of his witch, Disapparating them both with a sharp crack while Bellatrix began to screech in fury.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: *Skips in, grinning***

 ***Hands over the chapter with a bright smile***

 ***Kisses your foreheads when you take it from me***

 ***Chuckles before skipping away again***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Hermione squeaked, stumbling as she landed awkwardly, surprised to have been so suddenly apparated and she looked up at Rowle in confusion when he pulled her off balance once again, dragging her through a door that he flung open and running into the room, his hand still grasping her forearm tight enough to bruise.

"Rowle, what are you doing?" she demanded, pulling against his grip and trying to get free of him.

"Hurry up, Granger," he barked, still dragging her, and the use of her surname rather than one of his silly and over-used pet-names alerted her to the fact that whatever he was thinking was stressing him out.

"Is there a reason you've dragged me into an empty, falling down hut in the middle of nowhere?" Hermione wanted to know. "I'm not about to just come quietly because you think you can kidnap me, Superstar."

He spun on her quickly, snatching her right up in his arms and holding her against his chest, her breasts in line with his face. Hermione was surprised when he made no attempt to bury his face between them, but instead stared up into her face, his expression serious.

"Listen to me, Granger," he said urgently. "In a moment, Bass and the others are going to join us here and when they do I need you and Lovegood to be silent. Understand? Not a word. Don't interrupt, don't protest, don't try to get away. Stay behind me and stay quiet. Is that clear?"

"Why?" she asked. "What does 'Swashbuckles' mean to you lot? I assume it's not something pirating?"

He shook his head.

"It's our code word for 'get-the-fuck-out-now'. Every Death Eater knows it, and when it's used, every Death Eater in the vicinity who hears the word will immediately disapparate and come here."

"Why bring me here?" she asked. "Is this a trap?"

"No, that bollocks at Lovegood's was a trap. There are wards surrounding this place that prevent you from entering if you're intending your fellow Death Eaters harm, and prevent you from harming another Death Eater whilst on the property. Bellatrix knew we'd gone to Lovegood's and followed with the rest as back-up. They won't be able to get in if they mean us harm, but Merlin only knows how much those fuckers heard about horcruxes and plans for desertion. The Dark Lord obviously expected Bass and I to run for it when the cup turned up missing, so he sent his fucking bitch after us."

Right at that moment, while she was still held tightly two feet off the floor, Rabastan arrived towing Luna behind him though the girl looked beyond terrified and was fighting him every step of the way.

"Are they going to find us here?" Hermione asked seriously, looking back at Rowle.

"Yes," Thorfinn nodded.

"They're right behind me," Rabastan interrupted. "Luna, darling. I need you to be quiet, yeah? This is one of those moments like in your cell when you're best served by silence and by making yourself as small as possible."

Luna's expression of anger and fury melted immediately, and Hermione wanted to know how bad things had really been for her in that cell that she immediately stopped fighting and moved to the corner of the room, lowering herself into a squat and curling into a ball, never taking her eyes off Rabastan, but ensuring she was as small a target as possible.

"Stand with her, Granger," Lestrange commanded seriously. "And for the love of Merlin, hold your tongue, girl. This will get ugly and you're a distraction neither of us can afford."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and she watched the way Lestrange's jaw tightened, his wand arm twitching like he wanted to hex her for spite.

"Granger?" Rowle interrupted and Hermione looked down at him, still held in his arms. "This isn't the time for your stubbornness, alright? The use of this house, of that word, is the equivalent of a shark-bell, you got me? We're not fucking around. This is a get to dry land and fucking stay there kind of place and things are about to get very tense and you will only make them tenser if you provoke the wrong person. Just…. Trust me, Princess. Just once. I know what I'm doing?"

"Do you?" Dolohov's Russian accent curled through the room like poison gas and Hermione fell silent as Rowle lowered her quickly to the ground and pushed her behind him. Hermione crossed to the corner quickly, standing slightly in front of Luna, ready to protect the younger girl with her life, should it come to that.

"Toshka," Rowle began, but before he could say another word Carrow slipped into the room behind her husband and surveyed the situation. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were right behind her and Bella's wand was drawn, her eyes narrowed hatefully.

"You're running? Traitors!" She screeched, immediately taking up all the energy in the room and inserting herself as the center of attention. Hermione wondered if that was common and how no one had hit her with a nasty hex for being so annoying, especially when she screeched in such a manner.

"The cup's gone, Trix," Rabastan spoke, his voice still hoarse, his expression slightly pained. "The Order destroyed it."

"The fools can't have destroyed it. Nothing can destroy that object," Bellatrix hissed.

Hermione stayed silent, though she wanted to sneer that they knew all about the horcruxes and how to destroy them.

"It's gone," Rabastan reiterated. "And my life is forfeit if I return. I was the fool who drunkenly told Luna there was something important of the Dark Lord's in our vault. He'll murder me if I go back."

"As he should!" Bellatrix hissed, proving the effectiveness of the wards when she tried to throw a Killing curse at her brother-in-law.

"Enough!" Rodolphus Lestrange spoke sharply and Hermione raised her eyebrows when the man turned on his wife, wrapping both hands around her throat and squeezing just tight enough to cut off her air supply and her ability to screech. He lifted her by the grip, and Hermione watched the dark-haired woman's legs kick futilely, repeatedly striking her husband with both her arms and her legs, raking her nails over his handsome, yet Azkaban-weary face.

"You can't kill her in here, brother," Rabastan warned.

"I have no intention of murdering my wife," Rodolphus said, and Hermione shuddered at the utterly calm tone of his voice. He'd killed many times, she knew, and it was clear that it didn't even get his heart racing anymore to choke someone into unconsciousness.

When Bellatrix lost consciousness, she dangled limply in his hold and Hermione winced when Lestrange let her crumple to the floor at his feet before stepping right over the top of her.

"Now that we've removed the tension from the equation so that we can all think without that fucking racket," Lestrange said briskly. "The point of this white-tailing, brother?"

"The cup is destroyed, I can't go back, and the Dark Lord sent his bitch to stop me," Rabastan shrugged his shoulders.

"How was the cup destroyed? You… Granger, isn't it?" he slanted a look at her and Hermione narrowed her eyes, looking toward first Thorfinn, then Rabastan, wondering if she should speak to him.

Rowle nodded his head, looking resigned.

"Lestrange?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"The Order knows what Dark magic infected that cup, then?" Lestrange asked seriously. "You know what it was and found a means for destroying it?"

Hermione nodded.

"The Horcrux was destroyed," she nodded her head.

Rodolphus's left eye twitched and his hand shook like he might fling a hex at her.

"The end is imminent, then," he murmured.

"He made Horcruxes?" Dolohov asked, frowning fiercely.

"Many of them," Rodolphus nodded. "I know Lucius had one, in addition to the one the Dark Lord entrusted to Bella."

"And it's destroyed, too?" Dolohov asked, looking toward her seriously.

Hermione nodded again.

"It's been gone since my second year," she admitted. "Lucius handed it off to Ginny Weasley to prevent being caught with it during the Ministry raids that year. It took possession of her many times and almost killed Ginny, drawing on her life-force as its own. The Dark Lord almost retook human form that night in the Chamber of Secrets before Harry slayed the Basilisk and stabbed the diary with one of the serpent's fangs."

Rodolphus sighed heavily.

"And the others?" he asked. "How many remain? Do you know how many he made?"

"Seven," Hermione nodded.

"Seven?" Dolohov asked, aghast. "No wonder he's so fucking inhuman!"

Hermione nodded one more time, eyeing Carrow when the witch strolled right by Rabastan and Thorfinn, though they both moved to stop her. She narrowed her eyes on the other witch, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

"Scared of me, Granger?" Carrow asked, tipping her head to one side.

"No," Hermione admitted truthfully.

"Miss me?" Carrow asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As much as you missed me, I'm sure," she replied.

She drew in a surprised breath when Carrow tittered a little laugh before reaching up with both hands and threading them into Hermione's curls.

"A little, then," Carrow chuckled before holding her still, leaning in, and pressing her lips to Hermione's.

"Must you?" Hermione asked after the woman had kissed her in greeting.

"Mmmm," Carrow nodded. "What are you still doing here, then? You can run back to your precious Order, you know? Both of you."

She nodded toward Luna where she squatted in the corner behind Hermione.

"No, they can't," Thorfinn hissed.

"Don't be a party-pooper, Finn," Carrow chuckled, scraping her nails against Hermione's scalp in a way that would've been delightful were the situation less tense. "It's more fun when they run."

"Fun for who?" Thorfinn snapped. "You get to fuck your match every other night."

"I want to fuck _her_ ," Carrow said, eyeing Hermione lustfully.

"Maybe later, _kotik,"_ Dolohov chuckled, and Hermione tensed when he walked up behind his wife, fishing her hands out of Hermione's hair and shoving the other witch away from her.

She eyed him warily when he didn't move away, tracing his eyes over her hastily clothed form and smirking just a little. Hermione struggled and squawked in protest when he imitated his wife, leaning in and stealing a kiss from her lips like he simply couldn't resist. Neither of them sparked the painful sting Ron had don when he'd snogged her, and Hermione knew without a doubt that the two of them shared some kind of bond with her.

"Could you all keep your hands off my wife?" Rowle growled, his temper flaring immediately.

"Just saying hello, _ditya_ ," Dolohov chuckled, surprising Hermione when he booped the end of her nose with the tip of his finger as though he thought she was cute as a button.

"Are we all just deserting the cause for Order members, then?" Rodolphus asked, narrowing his eyes on the lot of them.

"None of you are shacking up with me," Hermione warned, watching Dolohov saunter away. He tucked Alecto under his arm as he did so, seeming almost fond of the woman and Hermione couldn't help thinking it was an improvement on last time, when they'd been threatening to kill one another.

"Princess," Rowle began, frowning at her.

"Don't you, 'Princess' me, Rowle!" Hermione snapped. "We're all at war, so if you lot could figure all your rubbish out, Luna and I are going home."

Luna squeaked when Hermione reached for her, trying to pull the smaller witch to her feet and Hermione frowned at the girl, taking her eyes off the Death Eaters to look at her friend.

"She's not going anywhere for a while, Granger," Rabastan said quietly, shaking his head at her before turning his attention back to his brother. "Now, the important question is, what are you lot planning? Will you flee, or will you return to the Dark Lord."

"You know what he does to those who abandon the cause," Dolohov spoke up.

"Only those who are caught," Rabastan pointed out.

"There's nowhere you can run that he won't find you," Rodolphus warned.

"There is if he dies before he has time to hunt us. Granger, how close are the Order to destroying the Dark Lord?"

"I'm not telling you that just so you can run back to him," she said waspishly.

"Will we make it to the end of this year?"

"We won't make it until the end of the month," Hermione replied quietly. "The battle is imminent. More imminent than you realize."

"The end of the month?" Carrow said. "That's two days from now."

"We're ready," Hermione shrugged.

"You said there are still three Horcruxes left, Princess," Thorfinn interrupted.

"There are," Hermione nodded. "But we know what they are, and we know where they are. The boys might even be on their way to the easiest one as we speak."

"It's at Hogwarts, isn't it?" Rodolphus asked seriously.

Hermione smirked.

"Right under Snape's nose," she said.

"And the other two?" Rowle asked.

'Nagini is one of them," Hermione admitted. "But when drawn into battle, I'm sure the Dark Lord will be a little too busy to keep so close an eye on his beloved pet. And I'm getting rather good with Fiendfyre."

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on her.

"The last one?" Dolohov asked.

"That's a secret," Hermione said.

All five Death Eaters eyed her suspiciously.

"It's Potter, isn't it?" Carrow asked after a beat of silence.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I doubt a human could be a Horcrux," Hermione said, wanting to throw them off the scent.

"If the snake can be, then Potter can be," Alecto argued. "Does he know? Or is it a surprise?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"A surprise, then?" Carrow chuckled. "How are you going to get around that one, then? What? The Dark Lord and Potter face off and strike simultaneously with the Killing curse? He'll want to be quick with that wand of his. And to keep from panicking and using that ridiculous disarming charm he favours."

"If Potter is caught at Hogwarts, the battle will begin as soon as Snape raises the alarm," Rodolphus mused. "There are only a matter of days, it would seem. Strange… I thought we'd have more time."

He seemed almost wistful.

"Time?" Carrow asked.

"To be free," Rodolphus said quietly. "Even if we all flee now, and were able to convince Granger there to put in a good word for us, none of us will escape the Kiss for long."

"We will," Rabastan said, jerking his thumb between himself and Thorfinn. "They won't sentence us when we're matched to those two."

He nodded toward Hermione and Luna.

"We'll be spared too, since kissing her doesn't spark the sting," Alecto nodded to her and her husband. "I knew bonding with you in the Hunt would come in handy, Granger."

"Thrilled to be of service," Hermione drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"So, it's just you and Bella, Rod," Rabastan said. "If you run now, they'll never find you."

"And leave her?" he pointed to the witch at his feet, the prone form of his wife.

"You hate her anyway," Rabastan said. "You know you do, and I'm pretty sure the Kiss would free you of the effects of the bond."

"It won't," Rodolphus shook his head, sighing in annoyance. "It'll just drive me mad."

"Well, I don't know, take her with you?" Rabastan shrugged. "Tie her up in a basement somewhere so she won't cause any more bloody trouble and won't try to seek out the Dark Lord again, and then you can be in hiding and just see her whenever you need to refresh the tie."

Rodolphus looked thoughtful.

"We can't run yet," he said. "Two days would be enough for the Dark Lord to find us."

"Well, we can't go back," Thorfinn said. "You know what they'll do to me if we announce that the Order's been destroying his Horcruxes. And Bass told them where one was, so he's screwed."

"What will you do then?" Rodolphus asked. "Those pretty little witches aren't just going to invite you on home with them. And even if they did, it would not end well for you when the Order gets hold of you. Especially you, Bass. After what we did to the Longbottoms, they will crucify you on sight."

Hermione put her hands on her hips, watching the conversation go around in circles, her eyes tracing over Thorfinn's back when he reached up to run an exasperated hand through his blond mane. She still didn't like him, it was true, but the pain in her chest that she'd lived with for the past few months whilst parted from him had lessened so much that she couldn't discount it. She didn't think she could tolerate being away from him for so long again. Not when it induced that kind of pain.

She wracked her brain, trying to think. Rodolphus was right that if they went before the Order, Thorfinn and Rabastan would be put on trial and attacked. And while they certainly deserved it, Hermione didn't fancy living with the pain in her chest again. Maybe there was a way.

The agreement to meet Harry, Ron and Ginny at Hogwarts in three days if they hadn't returned by then whispered through her mind.

"There's nowhere you can go that the Dark Lord won't find," Dolohov pointed out. "He's been in all our heads, he knows all of our hidey-holes."

Rabastan sighed and Thorfinn looked like he wanted to lose his temper.

"I know a place," Hermione said quietly before she could think better of what she was planning to offer, the thought swimming to the forefront of her mind suddenly.

"Don't tell us," Rodolphus said immediately, all five Death Eaters turning to look at her. "The Dark Lord will want to know why we didn't stop you and will raid our minds to learn where you've gone."

Hermione opened her mouth before nodding and closing it again.

"Princess…" Rowle began, looking in her direction with an alarming combination of hope and confusion.

"Just…" Dolohov said. "Let's get out of here. You lot will have to out-duel us to send us back to the Dark Lord looking like we at least tried to prevent your escape."

"You're going back?" Thorfinn asked of Antonin. "Toshka… you'll die."

Dolohov looked doubtful, frowning at the younger wizard for a moment.

"We've all got to go some time, _ditya_ ," he said after a long beat of silence.

Hermione could almost feel the way the terror spread through Rowle, watching it transform his face and she realized that whatever relationship existed between Rowle and Dolohov, it meant a great deal to both of them. She glanced at Carrow for a long moment, and the witch caught her eye before smirking and rolling her eyes like the men were being dramatic.

"Right," Rodolphus said, bending to scoop Bellatrix into his arms. "Everyone off the property, and then you lot fling a few hexes at us, yeah?"

"Rod," Rabastan protested, frowning at his elder brother. "What if this…"

Rodolphus cut him off. "It's not goodbye, Bass," he smiled tightly at Rabastan.

Hermione could tell that the entire group of Death Eaters were thinking the same thing. That maybe this _was_ goodbye. That in a few days they might meet on the battlefield and be blasted out of existence. Merlin, some of them might return to Voldemort tonight and have their existence snuffed out. Holding her tongue on the suggestion that they all get going, she let them all share their long, worried looks and it occurred to her how horribly human they were all.

"Come on, Luna," Rabastan said finally, turning toward the blonde witch crouched in the corner and reaching for her carefully.

Hermione frowned when the girl carefully reached for Rabastan's hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She still looked spooked and beyond scared, but she stopped crouching and she didn't fight when Rabastan pulled the girl into his arms. Rowle crossed the distance between the two of them, too, reaching out and offering her his hand. Hermione hesitated only for a moment.

"To the edge of the wards, then?" Dolohov confirmed. "Eastern edge?"

They all nodded, and Hermione closed her eyes, letting Rowle disapparate them both with a crack. The landed on a grassy knoll, stumbling a little thanks to the uneven ground, and Hermione noticed the way Rowle curled an arm around her midriff to keep her from falling.

"What now?" she asked him.

"Now we fling hexes at those four," he nodded at Rodolphus, who clutched Bellatrix's limp body, and at Dolohov and Carrow when they both appeared.

"Wait," Carrow said before bounding across the small distance and latching onto Hermione tightly.

"Allie, really?" Thorfinn asked, sounding disapproving.

"You're not the only one she's bound to, Finn," Carrow reminded him.

"She's _my_ wife," he growled.

"I fucked her first," Carrow argued, smirking when she pulled back and held Hermione at arm's length.

"You're making this weird, Carrow," Hermione informed her when the witch stared at her for a long moment.

"Yeah, well, we probably won't all make it through the battle… so… you know."

She shrugged her slim shoulders, and Hermione didn't know what to make of the fact that the idea of these people – who ought to have been her enemies and ought to be people she would relish seeing dead – might not make it through the coming fight made her nervous. Merlin, she hadn't even considered until that moment that _she_ might not make it through the fight!

What if none of her friends made it through? Gods, the thought made her stomach tie itself in painful knots, and Hermione blinked at the sting that suddenly filled her eyes. Carrow seemed to recognize the thoughts rushing through her head because the witch gave her tight, understanding smile before leaning in and capturing her lips for a kiss. Hermione didn't even think about it as she kissed the other woman back, her tongue darting out to meeting Alecto's, tangling together. She slid her arms around the other witch, pressing herself against the full length of Alecto's body and kissing her soundly.

When they broke apart, Hermione was breathing hard and her noticed the way Dolohov and Rowle were hugging like they were father and son, with much back-slapping, but no doubt that there was love between them. Rodolphus had set down Bellatrix on the grass, and he and Rabastan embraced like the brothers they were.

Hermione raised her eyebrows when Thorfinn and Antonin broke apart, each of them turning to look at her and Carrow. She tensed when Dolohov strolled over to her, invading her space while Carrow stepped back, sauntering over to Rowle and peering up at him.

"I'm not snogging you," she warned the Viking of a wizard.

"Bollocks you're not," he retorted, snagging hold of the back of her neck and leaning down to steal a kiss from her lips.

Hermione shook her head, surprised when she felt no flare of jealousy to watch her husband kissing another woman. How peculiar magic must be.

"Well," Dolohov said, his Russian accent strangely thick as he moved even closer, reaching out and smoothing his hand over her midsection lightly.

"I still haven't forgiven you for that curse, you know?" Hermione informed the wizard, though she didn't pull away from his touch.

"You were in my way," he shrugged his shoulders. "And meant nothing to me or mine, back then."

"And now?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "Have you changed your tune so much as to feel something for a filthy mudblood?"

Dolohov's lip curled back from his teeth for a moment before he sighed.

"Only for this one," he replied, his hand sliding around her waist to press against the small of her back, pulling her flush against his body. He watched her curiously as Hermione let herself be pulled into his embrace, recalling with startling clarity the way it had felt when he'd had his tongue between her legs.

She didn't say anything as he simply held her that way, peering into her face, and she realized he wanted her to be the one to initiate the kiss. Sighing, Hermione stretched up on her toes, reached for him with both hands and tangled them into his dark hair. He smirked wickedly when he lowered his face to accept her kiss and Hermione nipped his lip in punishment, making him growl in surprise before he pulled her closer, pressing her to him firmly and kissing her until she was breathless.

"See you on the battlefield, _solnyshko_ ," he murmured huskily when they broke apart.

Hermione nodded, wondering what her friends would say if they could see her now, locking lips with Death Eaters who weren't even her husband. Rowle came up behind her as she stepped back out of Dolohov's embrace, his arms encircling her, and for the first time, Hermione found that she didn't mind.

Rodolphus released his brother slowly before looking over at Luna, who was standing awkwardly, a dreamy look on her face.

"Little Luna Lestrange," Rodolphus said quietly, approaching the girl with both hands outstretched, his palms turned upward.

"Rodolphus?" Luna asked, her brow furrowing a little as she accepted his hands, placing her own inside them.

"Take good care of my brother, little one," Rodolphus said quietly.

Luna nodded solemnly, holding perfectly still when Rodolphus leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of his sister-in-law's forehead.

"Alright," Rabastan said. "Enough touchy-feely rubbish. Brother, collect your wife."

Rodolphus smirked at Rabastan for a moment before stooped to pick up Bella once more. Antonin, Alecto, and Rodolphus stood together, their wands sheathed, while Luna and Rabastan came up on either side of Hermione and Thorfinn. Each of them touching her shoulders.

"Sorry about this," Hermione said sincerely.

The four of them lifted their wands, and she watched the way Carrow slipped her hand inside Dolohov's as she closed her eyes.

Four curses blasted from the ends of their wands, a slicing hex from Rabastan, an explosion of Fiendfyre from Thorfinn, a Bombarda from Hermione, and a Stunning spell from Luna. The other Death Eaters were blasted back and before any of them could recover, Hermione closed her eyes and Disapparated herself, her husband, Rabastan, and Luna away from the scene to a location she knew no one would ever think to look for them.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: So, remember when I said this would be finished in April... Yeah... I lied. LOL. Anyway, I'm trying to get in completed by the end of this month. There's not much to go, now. I hope you love it. Thanks ever so much to all my reviews. It's so nice to know y'all are there and enjoying the fic.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

* * *

"Where are we?" Thorfinn asked when they landed, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground of the forest.

"Scotland," Hermione answered, releasing Luna and Rabastan before hurrying toward a bend in the faint deer trail that led through the overgrown forest.

"Where exactly in Scotland?" Rabastan asked. "I'm not dressed for camping, or even hiking, for that matter."

"Just… follow me, would you?" Hermione said, looking at the three of them over her shoulder and trying to keep her patience.

The others fell silent, falling into single file and beginning to follow her down the path. For several hundred meters, they stepped over and around the debris of the forest.

"Princess?" Rowle asked finally when they came to the final turn in the road before the cottage she'd brought them to.

"It's just up here," she said.

"What is?" he asked before rounding the corner after her a spotting the tiny, slightly run-down cabin hiding in the middle of the woods. "Oh."

Hermione wondered if Rowle and Lestrange were judging the squat dwelling, used to enormous Manor's and fancy Towers and glittering Chateauxs.

"What is this place?" Lestrange asked, frowning a little at the sight of it but otherwise not seeming to mind too much.

"It used to belong to my grandmother," Hermione told them. "She died when I was fourteen. Mum and Dad used to bring me here when I was young, and we spent a portion of the summer here every year, before last summer."

She clenched her fist when thoughts of her parents recalled to mind the pain of losing them.

"I don't know what sort of state it's going to be in. I haven't been here in over a year. But it's warm and dry and there are enough rooms for everyone. We can… hide out here until we're scheduled to meet up with Harry and the rest of the Order," Hermione said, looking meaningfully at Luna.

She had no real intention of hiding for three days, no matter what Rowle thought might be best for the two of them getting to know one another, but he didn't need to know that, now did he?

"What about supplies?" the other witch asked. "I don't expect there will be much in the pantry and we're hardly dressed for three days spent in the woods."

She indicated to the fact that she wore only the shirt she'd stolen from Rabastan, while he husband wore only his jeans. Hermione noticed again how badly wounded Lestrange was and she frowned at him, wondering what she had with her that she might put to use to better heal him before remembering he was a Death Eater and had been one of the ones to torture Neville's parents into madness. At least, that's what he'd been convicted for, before his untimely escape.

"The place runs on muggle electricity, and the bills are debited directly to one of my Mum and Dad's accounts. There's plenty of food in the freezer, and a fair few non-perishables in the cupboards. Enough to last us for the two or three days we'll be here, at least. And I think there are some spare clothes in the drawers and cupboards inside. We all used to leave a few things here during our stays just in case we ended up overstaying our planned visit-time. We can resize them accordingly with magic."

They walked up to the door and Hermione used her wand to unlock it. Inside everything was a little dusty and in need of a few freshening charms, but magic took care of it well enough. Not that it'd been much to begin with. Her grandmother had been firmly living in the 60s right up until her death, refusing to redecorate or to update the dated and rather sad looking furnishings. Hermione smiled a little wistfully, recalling the many arguments between her Gran and her Mum about what constituted good taste and appropriate replacement times for certain items. It wasn't much, but as she stepped across the threshold, Hermione couldn't help the overwhelming sense she had of coming home.

"Well, the bedrooms are upstairs," she said when she realized Luna, Rabastan and Thorfinn were all watching her and waiting for some sort of cue to make themselves at home.

"Do you object to us using your Gran's room or your parents' room, Hermione?" Luna asked tactfully, and it occurred to Hermione that she hadn't really thought about it.

"Take either," Hermione shook her head, expecting she'd end up shagging Rowle again during their stay and not fancying the idea of doing so in her Mum and Dad's bed.

Luna nodded, her hand caught in Rabastan's, and Hermione noticed that the wizard didn't protest in the slightest when Luna led him toward the staircase. Hermione didn't bother asking where they were going, or what they might be planning to do. She didn't really want the specifics, but she'd come to think that whatever their relationship, Luna was at least safe with her husband. At least, as safe as she could be with anyone within the magical world who could kill with an uttered spell and enough malicious intent.

"You alright, Princess?" Rowle asked when the two of them were left downstairs in the cramped kitchen.

Hermione looked over at him, eyeing him speculatively and wondering what she ought to do about him. She could've very well be parted from him again; not when they were bonded as they were. She supposed the only other option was to take a chance and get to know him.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione asked, heading for the stairs and knowing he would follow her.

"Shoot," he invited as one of his hands trailed appreciatively over her bum when she took the stairs ahead of him.

"Did you mean it?" she asked without looking at him. "What you said back at Luna's place, about fancying me at school. Did you mean it, or were you just trying to convince me to spend more time with you?"

She instinctively found her feet carrying her to the little bedroom at the end of the hall that had always been hers, and before she realized it, she found herself closed inside it with Thorfinn Rowle at her back. He pushed the door closed easily, his eyes trailing over the furnishings and a little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth when he spotted the collection of stuffed animals on the bed – sad and dusty remnants of the childhood she'd left behind, long ago.

"I meant it, Granger," he nodded, using his wand to lock and ward the door to prevent them having to overhear Rabastan and Luna going at it, and vice versa.

"What on Earth for?" Hermione asked, frowning at the teddy bears on the bed before gathering them all up and setting them on the lumpy cushion of the window seat before using her wand to enlarge the narrow single bed into something that would more comfortably accommodate the two of them.

She wasn't foolish enough to think of trying to banish him to another room. He was her husband, after all, so even her Grandmother – Merlin rest her soul – couldn't object to the two of them sharing the bed. Not to mention that for all her protests, she didn't really want to endure the ache of being parted from him again so soon.

"What'd I fancy you for?" Rowle asked, crossing to the bed and sprawling down on top of it before reaching one arm in her direction, inviting her to curl up against his side.

Against her better judgement, Hermione went to him, toeing off her shoes and stripping out of her jeans before climbing over him, intending to curl into his far side. He caught her hips before she could make it all the way over him, holding her on top of him, having her straddle him and looking wickedly amused by the idea.

"I had big hair, and bad teeth and I was a right stroppy cow," Hermione reminded him. "Especially in third year. You'd have been in… what? Fifth year, then? Fifteen or sixteen. Why were you even looking in my direction?"

"Because you had a wicked tongue and you weren't afraid to let m have it when I pulled your pigtails," Thorfinn smirked. "I was a git, especially during your first year. Spent a good amount of time picking on all the firsties, but none of them gave it back to me quite like you did. Most were too scared. I was looking in your direction by your third year because you grew tits, for one, and because you didn't just shrink away or let me push you around."

"You're saying that if I'd been meeker, you'd not have bothered with me?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Probably. Dunno. We're soul-matched. Maybe that's what caught my attention so effectively."

"And you maintained this… crush? Even after you graduated?"

"Tried to deny it, most of the time, especially after I left Hogwarts and started playing for the Leagues. It's a bit frowned on to be mooning after a school-girl when you've got groupies falling over themselves for your cock, baby-girl."

"Had all of them, did you?" Hermione asked nosily.

"Jealous, Princess?" he smirked, smoothing his hands over her hips and under the hem of her shirt like he meant to peel her out of it.

"No," Hermione lied, narrowing her eyes and looking away.

Thorfinn's low laugh annoyed her more than it ought to, but she couldn't bring herself to rebuke him for it when she knew he probably had every right to laugh at her for being jealous when she hadn't any need to be. After all, he was married to her, now, and bound to her for the rest of his life, whether either of them liked it or not.

"I used to come to the matches up at the school during your sixth year, you know?" he told her. "As one of the Alumni. Professor Snape often invited me, hoping I might be able to pep-talk the Slytherins into following in my footsteps and joining the Leagues. I used to try and catch you alone, thinking that maybe you'd give me the time of day when you realized I'd joined the League teams. Reckoned you had thing for Quidditch players, what with that affair with Krum, and all that."

"I don't remember seeing you," she frowned at him.

"No, well you wouldn't, would you? Even when your friends were playing, you used to sit there with your nose buried in a book, if you bothered to come to the matches at all."

Hermione's lips twitched.

"I stopped going to some of them when Ron and I had a fight. I wasn't speaking to him, and didn't want to support him," she confessed.

"Must've been some fight," Thorfinn chuckled.

Hermione's mouth twisted.

"He said he'd come to one of Professor Slughorn's parties with me as my date, and then he ran off and snogged one of the trollops I shared a dormitory with and started dating her in an attempt to make me jealous," she told him. "It worked. But I expressed it by withdrawing my friendship and cutting ties with him. We didn't speak civilly for months."

"And to think I could've been luring your aboard my cock that whole time if I'd known where to look for you and could've gotten away with invading the library," he teased.

"If you had that wretched mark on your arm by then, I'd have hexed you stupid and left you for dead in the stacks," Hermione said meanly.

"I can't take back what I've done, Princess," he sighed, shaking his head and looking a little dejected, rather than looking repentant.

"Would you, if you could?" Hermione asked seriously lowering her voice and searching his handsome face for some sign that he regretted the things he'd done.

"Some of it," he shrugged his broad shoulders, releasing her with one hand to reach up and run his fingers through his tangled mane of blond hair. "I might not have taken the mark, if I could have my time over. But I wouldn't take back ending the life of the muggles who killed my Mum. And if I'd never joined the Death Eaters, I'd never have gotten to know Bass or Toshka like I have. Probably seems strange to you, since Dolohov is almost thirty years older than me and Bass has got twelve years on me, but they're my friends. The only family I've got, now, aside from you. It's not as easy as you'd think to make friends when you're the sole heir to a massive fortune _and_ have amassed even the small amount of fame I carved out for myself playing Quidditch."

"You had a collection of mean-spirited friends at school willing to antagonize me alongside you," she reminded him.

Thorfinn shrugged his shoulders.

"Most people who are friends in high school don't stay friends after it, baby-girl," he said seriously. "Everyone goes their separate ways, to jobs or marriages or other responsibilities. People you shared a classroom or dormitory with suddenly have other shit they've got to do. Time grows scarce, and what little time people do have outside of work tends to be filled up pursuing those things that take your fancy, you know? Less time for catching up for a pint down the pub; more time spent catching up on sleep. People get busy; that's just life. With a career like mine, I'm busier than most. When I'm not on the run as a Death Eater and the Leagues are still in operation, I'm up at four to be at training by five and we do a solid seven-hour session before lunch. After it, we run drills and cool off. By the time I get home a little after three in the afternoon, I'm wiped out. On game day and the day before, there's no drinking, and since the games are typically on a Saturday, there's not a whole lot of my mates willingly to skip a night out the pub, and I hate being the only plonker not drinking, so I don't go. After the games, I've got to do the PR bit and make sure the team are well thought of, no getting paninied in public or picking a fight with the dick-wad who insults my team.

"And then there's the fake friends. You wouldn't believe the number of people who sidle up to me, reminding me of times we spent together at school, with the angle of snatching a little of the spotlight for themselves, or wanting a loan of a few quid for this or that. That lot, compared to people like Bass or Toshka, are the real criminals, if you ask me. I've never had either of them ask me for money."

"Well, they've got their own," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Frozen in vaults that the Ministry wouldn't let them access until we strong-armed them into it using brute force and the Dark Lord's fear-inducing influence. Nah, these guys have spent more than a decade in Azkaban, Princess. They're some of the humblest blokes I know because they've endured living in absolute filth, with nothing but a ratty, torn robe on their backs, a holey blanket for warmth, a cold, stone cell in the middle of the North Sea and a bucket to shit it. They've spent years at the mercy of the Dementors and most of them that were inside are more than half-mad, if I'm being honest. And… where was I going with this?"

He paused, frowning up at her for a long moment.

"I asked if you'd take back becoming a Death Eater," she reminded him.

"Right. Well… no, to be honest. I wouldn't. And I know it's not what you want to hear, Princess. But if I'd never taken the mark, I don't reckon you'd ever have given me the time of day. Because I joined, you're now my wife."

"I might've given you the time of day without it," Hermione frowned in return.

Thorfinn laughed.

"Yeah, because your track record lends itself to that idea so convincingly," he rolled his eyes.

"I might've," she argued. "Maybe after the war. If you'd popped up again when I'd been out of school for a few years. We _are_ soul-matched, after all. I might've fallen for you, one day."

"You _will_ fall for me, one day," he replied, looking deadly serious and utterly determined.

"You really want that?" she asked. "We're nothing alike, Rowle."

His mouth twisted into a mockery of a grin.

"We're exactly alike, Hermione," he argued quietly, surprising her with the use of her first name. "From our obsessive natures and our nasty tempers all the way to our dogged determination to each get our way, you are I are perfectly matched. Which is why you're my soul-match and why this marriage is going to be the hardest bloody thing I'll ever do in my entire life."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head at him, unsure what to make of everything he'd said and unsure if she liked his reasoning or his saying he'd have still chosen to be a Death Eater if he had his time over again. Not knowing what to say, she peered around her room, noticing idly that she'd left a few of her favourite books on the shelves here, and that the room really needed re-papering.

"So," Thorfinn said, smoothing his hands up and down her sides like he couldn't keep from touching her. "What happens now, Princess?"

"What do you want to have happen now, Rowle?" Hermione asked seriously.

"I want to tie you to this bed until the war's over, so that I know you can't run off with Potter and get yourself killed. I'm not ready to be a widower and I don't want to die yet. I've got big plans for my life, darling. And you're central to them."

"Such as?" Hermione raised one eyebrow, unsure what to make of his frankness and his habit of blurting out exactly what he was thinking.

"Such as rug-rats, for one," he told her. "Oi! Don't turn your nose up at me like that, Granger. I'm not suggesting we have them right this second. I'm just saying that, big picture, I want kids. Not sure how many. Maybe two or three. Maybe a whole herd of them. You and me don't got a whole lot of family left, between the two of us, and being an only child was lonely."

Hermione shook her head slowly from side to side, unsure what to make of his announcement. She hadn't thought about having children of her own since she'd been young – younger than now. Merlin, she didn't think she'd even passingly daydreamed of having a family since she'd been twelve or thirteen. It had always seemed a distant goal. One of the check-boxes to tick when the time was right after she'd found a husband and a good job and bought a house and established herself financially.

With the war raging, she honestly hadn't given a thought to her future beyond it and she didn't know how to point that out without sounding like a heartless bitch. Despite her hostility toward this wizard who carried the unfortunate titles of both Death Eater and Husband, Hermione didn't want to crush that light out of his bright blue eyes when he lit up as he talked about how he hoped he'd have a son one day, someone to teach to play Quidditch just like him, and how he was terrified of having a daughter, lest she be anything like Hermione herself and send him grey well before his years.

It seemed to surreal to Hermione, watching him talk so calmly about the notion of the two of them having a future when they might very well die in a few short days. Merlin, she didn't want to die, she realized. She'd not given children a thought but listening to him talk about it while he looked so excited for it when the time came almost made her think it'd be worth getting to know him and trying to make something of this mess.

"Course, all of this hinges on what the Ministry decides to do with me when this war is all over, if Potter wins," he said, his brow furrowing a little bit. "I don't reckon they'll toss me in Azkaban for long. Not when it'll strain our bond and hurt you. But I don't reckon they'll be very forgiving. Might be that my days as a professional Quidditch player are over for good, even when they reinstate the Leagues. Might be that the best I'll get is being a stay-at-home Dad on house arrest for his crimes."

"If we even survive," Hermione said quietly.

He looked up at her sharply, his brow furrowing.

"Don't fight, Hermione," he urged quietly. "Potter's come this far. The thinking is done, and I _know_ you're not the best in a duel. You're good, I'll give you that, but compared to the likes of Bella or Toshka…. Baby, I can't lose you. Not like that. Stay here with me. We'll hide away until the fighting is done and when the dust settles, we'll figure out our next move. Please?"

Hermione frowned at him.

"If you really think I could ever just sit idly by while my friends fight and die, Thorfinn, then you really don't know me at all," Hermione told her seriously.

"I know you plenty," he said sadly. "And I know that the only way I'll keep you safe is by chaining you to this bloody bed and keeping you under the Imperius curse until it's all over."

"Do you know that I'd never forgive you for it, if you tried it?" Hermione asked him seriously, scowling at the fact that he'd obviously given it some thought.

He sighed heavily, nodding his head and looking resigned.

"If you fight in this coming battle and die, I'll never forgive you, Granger," he told her seriously. "And if I have to haul my sorry arse into battle alongside you to keep you safe and I die as a result, you better believe I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life, love. That pig-tail pulling of my Hogwarts days will look like child's play compared to how batty I'll drive you as a ghost."

"Perhaps we ought to resolve not to die, then," she suggested, rolling her eyes.

"Believe me, Princess, if there was some way I could guarantee that, I'd have already fucking done it," he said sounding sad, resigned, and angry all at once.

Before she could say anything else, he pulled her shirt off over her head and tangled his hands into her loose curls, pulling her face down to his and claiming her lips for a searing kiss that branded her as his for all eternity all over again.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Mwhahaha! 2 chapters in as many days. We're closing in on the end, folks. I hope you're holding onto your hats.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle doubted there would ever come a day when he'd tire of snogging his wife. He couldn't help but enjoy how very much she seemed to fight her own desires every time they locked lips. She wanted him; he knew she wanted him, but she seemed unable to accept that fact within herself until he pushed her into blinding pleasure the likes of which she simply couldn't deny.

Not that he minded. He had nothing but time and the more he could wear her out and the longer he could distract her into never leaving this bed, the better their chances at survival. She couldn't run off into battle if she was passed out from too many orgasms, now could she? Snogging her lazily, he took his time exploring every part of her, his lips making sweet love to hers and his tongue slowly acquainting itself with hers.

Merlin, he'd fucking missed her.

Those months they'd spent apart had been torture thanks to the bond linking the two of them, but before that night in the forest when they'd sparred and wrestled and sniped at one another, Thorfinn had almost managed to make himself forget how fucking brilliant she was. Part of him hated her for this thing that simmered between them and seemed to have done since they'd both been dumb kids, the minute she'd started at Hogwarts. Part of him loathed that over the years, no matter how he'd kissed other witches, shagged other witches, taunted other witches, they just never seemed to hold his attention like Granger did.

He had no doubt it was because they were soul-matched, but that hadn't helped him over the years when he'd tried desperately to figure out why she was the only who sparked dreams that had him waking with sticky sheets. Snogging her now, Thorfinn couldn't help thinking that he was looking forward to spending his life waking up beside her every morning, and he desperately hoped she liked morning sex because he was going to start every day from here on out sinking himself into the tight, sweet heat of her cunt. He reckoned that if he could do that, no matter what else life might throw at him, he'd be one pretty fucking happy wizard.

She arched into his touch when he smoothed his hands across her taut stomach, over her ribcage and up to cup her pert breasts through the fabric of her bra, kissing him back hungrily like she couldn't get enough of him. Merlin's banana's, he was going to ravish every inch of her until he couldn't fucking walk, Thorfinn decided.

Snaking one hand around her back, Thorfinn unhooked her bra and peeled it off her petite frame, breaking their kiss to stop and admire the view. She whined in protest at the interruption and Thorfinn silenced her protest when he ducked his head and drew her nipple into his mouth, working it with his tongue and robbing her the ability to speak.

"Something wrong, Princess?" he taunted when she whimpered, her hands fisted in his thick blond locks and pulling insistently like she couldn't decided if she wanted to yank him off of her or pull him closer.

He suckled the other breast while she opened those wild brown eyes to glare at him hatefully and Thorfinn nipped her before pulling back to smirk at her.

"You're such an arsehole," she accused huskily, rolling her hips and grinding her denim clad cunt against his throbbing cock.

Merlin's bloody barnacles, Thorfinn needed to be inside her!

She squealed when he put his considerable strength to use, lifting her off of him easily and standing her on her feet right there on the mattress looming over him. She didn't fight him when he unfastened her jeans and dragged them down her legs, and Thorfinn wasted no time wriggling his own pants down his legs far enough to free his cock and allow him some range of movement.

"So eager for me, Superstar?" she taunted sultrily when he tugged her right back down into his lap now that they were both nude.

"Woman, I waited seven bloody months for the honeymoon phase with you after you shagged me, married me and then promptly ran out on me. You better fucking believe I'm eager for it. The magic binding us together prevents me taking my kicks anywhere else, and you know it."

"I suppose I'd better just hope you're not a sprinter, then, had I?" she teased.

"I'll get you off long before I'm done, Baby-girl," he warned, and she squirmed in surprise when he burrowed his hand between their bodies and delved his fingers into her tight cunt.

The words she'd been about to utter in retort died on her tongue and manifested only in a low moan of tortured bliss, making Thorfinn smirk. Rolling the two of them until she was stretched on her back under him, he took his time learning how she liked it, twisting his fingers first one way, and then the other before curling them and beckoning wickedly in a way that had her arching up and reaching for him like she fucking loved him. His cock was positively aching with the urge to be buried inside her long before he managed to break her.

"Gods, Thorfinn," he heard her whisper almost reverently when she pitched off the precipice and into the waiting pool of bliss.

"What was that you were saying about sprinting, love?" he taunted, withdrawing his fingers from her slick passage and rolling until he was stretched on top of her.

"Smug git," she accused, still breathless even as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

When he slowly slid into her, Thorfinn feared he might prove her right with her comment about sprinting, after all. The sizzling magic of the bond linking the two of them together was almost enough to bring him undone and the clutching heat of her cunt sheathing his cock was almost more than Thorfinn could bear.

"Fucking hell, Princess," he muttered into her hair, picking up a slow rhythm grinding into her maddeningly, suspecting that if he went any faster, this train would come to a screeching halt a little too soon for his liking.

She tightened her legs around him, arching and rocking into every slow thrust and Thorfinn couldn't help admiring the flush in her pretty pink cheeks as he took her. Merlin, he wondered if he was going mad that he felt like fucking cackling his victory and shouting it from the rooftops to have somehow ended up soul matched and married to this witch. More than half the time he'd spent in her presence had been spent wanting to bloody strangle her and he wondered if it was some trick of the magic that had him thinking that he'd never been this fucking happy in his whole bloody life.

When she suddenly gripped his shoulders and rolled the two of them across the bed until she was straddling him before sitting up and lifting herself almost all the way off of him, Thorfinn almost came. When she arched her back and rolled her hips before impaling herself on him once more, he had to start counting in Ancient Norse backwards from one hundred just to keep from blowing his load into her too soon.

She took her time riding him slow and easy, her eyes closed, her hands splayed across his chest for balance as she rocked herself up and down the steel length of him, fucking herself on his cock and not seeming shy in the slightest even though they barely knew each other. Thorfinn admired the view she made, still counting inside his head, trying to keep himself in control lest he ruin the moment.

"Gods, Finn, I'm… I'm…" she murmured softly a short time later, her breath coming faster, her body beginning to clamp down around him.

She cried out when the orgasm crashed over her, plunging herself down the length of his cock and swiveling her hips in a circle with him buried deep inside her. He tightened his grip on her, biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed, he was so desperate to keep from coming just yet. When she was finished and she collapsed against him, Thorfinn flipped the two of them across the mattress once more, pinning her to it and driving into her recklessly, letting his rigid control snap free as he chased his own release.

When he spent himself, he did so buried deep inside of her and despite the looming battle and the war they were fighting and the fact that his own life was very much in danger thanks to his desertion of his post as a devout Death Eater, Thorfinn found himself hoping something might come of their intense lovemaking. He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and trying to push back the waves of exhaustion that were crashing over him. He could feel her pulling her fingers through his hair and against his better judgement, he rolled them until he wasn't crushing her before gathering her into his arms and closing his eyes.

"It's been a long seven months, Princess," he muttered into her hair as she draped her thigh across his legs and smoothed her fingers over his chest to toy with his chest hair.

"Mmmm," she hummed, sounding sleepy and content, as though she were as tired as him and as though she might manage to drift off in his arms if he just kept trailing the tips of his fingers up and down the bare expanse of her back for long enough.

Gods, he'd give anything to fall asleep with this woman in his arms, knowing he wouldn't have to worry about whether she'd still be there when he woke. He'd been having nightmares for months that she would just run from him again the very next time he fucked her into a stupor. There seemed less chance of it this time given that they had a few days to kill before meeting up with her friends and jumping headlong into the battle of their young lives, but he wouldn't put it past the little bitch to wait until he was asleep before sneaking off again and leaving him alone in this hut in the woods while she went off to war with her stupid bloody friends. Thorfinn wondered how she might react if he used a semi-permanent sticking charm to prevent her from escaping until he was good and ready to let her go. Probably cuss him out and hex him, Thorfinn reckoned.

"Promise me you won't run again when we wake up, Granger?" Thorfinn murmured, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss to her temple, her curls tickling his nose just a bit.

"Shhh," she shushed him, snuggling her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder and pressing her lips to his skin. "Sleep now, Superstar."

Thorfinn closed his eyes and gave in to allure of sleep before exacting the promise out of her in so many words.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: *scuttles in, muttering to herself***

 ***Looks around shiftily***

 ***stuffs the chapter down the front of your knickers***

 ***cackles as she darts away***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Hermione laid there for a long time after Rowle fell asleep, still sprawled on top of him and finding that she rather liked the way it felt to have his arms curled around her so snugly. He held her tight enough that she'd likely be uncomfortable if she didn't move off him soon, but also in a way that suggested her trying to move off of him was going to wake him up. Maybe that was what he wanted. She'd snuck off last time they'd shagged, following the ritual that had bound her to him, and if she was being honest, Hermione was thinking about running off again. She didn't want to leave Luna alone with Rabastan and Thorfinn, but she also didn't think it would be a good idea to go getting herself too attached to her new husband.

Being there with her technically meant he'd defected from the ranks of the Death Eaters and his soul-bond to her might prevent him from landing in Azkaban, but he was still a Death Eater and he'd still done terrible things. Husband or not, soul-match or not, she didn't think it was wise to let herself begin getting to know this wizard or to go falling for him. _And Merlin_ , she thought, _it would be easy to fall for him_. He was a smart-arse and a torment and an absolute bloody bastard, but he was funny and he was handsome and he shagged her like he loved her. He wasn't afraid to admit to his budding feelings for her, either. Merlin, Hermione almost envied that bravery.

Sighing, she wriggled a little in his grip, managing to slide her body sideways until she was pressed against his side with her head pillowed on his arm, rather than laying on top of him. Her ribs ached just a bit from the position and it occurred to Hermione how tired she was and how badly she wanted to join him in sleep. His arms were still curled around her tightly and he made a little noise of complaint when she wriggled a bit more, trying to get comfortable. Hermione shook her head, thinking he was going to be trouble the longer she spent with him.

Lifting her head slowly, Hermione peered into his sleeping face, unable to keep from noticing how handsome he was and how young he looked in sleep. _Only two years her senior_ , she reminded herself. Merlin, what would her Mum and Dad say when they found out she was married? She'd have to modify their memories, of course, but after she did, she wondered what they would make of their only daughter, married to a Death Eater, having dropped out of high school, and on the run from the law.

 _Maybe it would be better if she didn't restore their memories_ , she thought sadly. She could only imagine how disappointed in her they would be if they ever found out what she'd done with her life, even if it all had been for the sake of surviving and – hopefully – winning the war. Reaching up carefully, Hermione smoothed a lock of Thorfinn's thick blond hair back from his face and it occurred to her as she did so that, given they were married, and soul-bonded, and that there was all likelihood of them eventually thinking about children, it would be a sad day for any they conceived should they manage to inherit both their mother's and their father's hair.

Her own bushy locks were bad enough but combined with the thick mane of blond Thorfinn sported, any children they had were likely to be born with the bushiest, blondest, thickest hair in existence. Merlin, she wasn't looking forward to fighting with a son or daughter about trying to comb such thick hair, one day.

She blinked when she realized she was thinking about breeding with the wizard before her, despite the terrible black blemish on his forearm and despite the long list of crimes against his name. Then again, she was hardly squeaky clean herself, given that she'd robbed a bank; impersonated a Ministry official; stolen; resisted arrest; committed assault, possibly even killed in self-defense.

"You're staring," Thorfinn mumbled, and Hermione blinked, realizing he was awake, after all.

"You're awake," she frowned.

"You moved, Princess," he said quietly. "Of course, I'm awake. Lying here waiting for you to try and make a run for it."

"Do you _want_ me to run for it?" she asked, frowning at him as he slowly opened those bright blue eyes of his to peer at her sleepily.

"No," he shook his head. "And I'll stop you if you try."

Hermione's frown deepened.

"You… weren't kidding about making something of this marriage, were you?" she asked quietly, tracing her eyes over his face.

"I really wasn't," he shook his head. "Why? What's on your mind, Granger? I could practically hear the cogs in that brilliant mind of yours turning just now."

Hermione bit her lip with indecision, wondering if she should tell him, or if it would be best to avoid offering even the tiniest bud of hope for a future together by admitting the truth about the direction her thoughts had taken.

"You… erm… rugrats?" she asked, and he lifted one eyebrow at her, clearly sensing there was more to it. Hermione sighed. "I was thinking that any children we have are going to have absolutely uncontrollable hair."

Thorfinn's expression didn't change for a few long seconds as her cheeks turned pink and Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she'd said too much and kicking herself for admitting her thoughts. After a brief moment and before she could bury her face against his chest to hide from his eyes, a wickedly delighted grin stretched across his face.

"Is that right?" he asked, and Hermione's cheeks darkened all the more at his fond tone.

"You… really want to make a go of this?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows at him and searching his face for some sign that this was all just a joke to him, no matter the things he'd already said.

"I do," he nodded, smiling at her genuinely and making the butterflies in Hermione's stomach begin to riot wildly.

Merlin, what had she gotten herself into.

"Kids. A House. Careers. The whole shebang?" Hermione confirmed.

"All of it," Thorfinn nodded. "Down to the fights and the spats over whose turn it is to feed the cat and who has to take out the bins, Granger. And I mean, sure, the kids are going to have big hair. They're doomed, what with the mess we've both got going on." He lifted his hand to ruffle it through her curls and Hermione squeaked in protest, making him laugh.

"But bloody hell, I want that," he muttered quietly as his smiled faded a little, his eyes tracing over her face seriously. "I've never wanted that with anyone else, Hermione. I won't lie, I spent a good deal of time crawling between the legs of many a witch trying to forget my crush on a teenager, and _never_ during that time did I even think about anything more long term than the next shag or the next groupie I was kicking out of my bed. But I want it with you. I want to fight with you and shout at you and tear my bloody hair out when you drive me mad. I want to watch you get fat with my kid in your belly and I want to listen to you whine to me about swollen ankles, or being hungry, or craving something bloody weird, like… I don't know, hot-sauce sandwiches or something."

"Hot-sauce sandwiches sound disgusting," Hermione informed him, shaking her head and trying to wrap her mind around how fervently he seemed to want everything he listed as though he wasn't confessing his heart's desires to a practical stranger. They might be married, but they barely knew each other.

"They do," Thorfinn laughed, nodding along with her.

Hermione nibbled her lip before lowering her head to rest her cheek on his arm, closing her eyes and sighing softly. The looming threat of the war seemed to weight heavier on her as Thorfinn traced his fingers over her back lightly, lulling her toward sleep. She hated herself for a coward when she thought that maybe his idea of running away and not going to the final battle wasn't so bad, after all. She knew she wouldn't be able to do it, but she also knew that she'd hate herself forever if something happened to either of them during the fight.

She drifted into an exhausted sleep in his arms, after that, one plagued by nightmares of the horrors of war, all of them punctuated with the strange vision of a little curly-haired blonde girl with Hermione's nose and Thorfinn's blue eyes, looking on as terrible things befell her parents.

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 **NOTE: If you like my writing, I have also just released my debut novel for original fiction. Check out my author profile here or on FB for all the details and links to purchase.**


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: Shout out to mytripedskirt for reviewing every chapter recently and prompting me to wrangle a little chapter for this one. It's a bit short, but the fluffiness and the acceptance felt important to me. I hope you like it.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Witch Hunting**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter Fifteen**

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The next time Thorfinn woke, it was to the sound of pained whimpers emitting from the witch curled against his side. Blinking blearily, he tried to make sense of where he was, his eyes trailing over the stuffed animals lined up on the windowsill all seeming to silently judge him for his intrusion in their sanctuary, before they fell to the writhing young woman beside him.

"Oi," he said quietly. "Come on, Princess. Shhhh, there's no need for that. Shhhh."

He smoothed his hands up and down her back comfortingly, offering what little solace he could but not daring to actually wake her up.

"Come on, love. You're alright. I'm here," he said when she whined again, still deeply asleep, it seemed.

Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes darted back and forth wildly, clearly caught in some kind of nightmare and Thorfinn frowned, wondering what plagued his witch's mind so violently.

"Hermione," he called, shaking her shoulder gently. "Hermione, wake up, sweetheart."

She gasped as she woke, her eyes flying open and fixing on him in terror for a long moment.

"You alright, Princess?" Thorfinn frowned. "You were having a nightmare, love. Just a nightmare. You're safe."

She shook her head quickly, sitting up and clutching the covers to her chest as though to hide from his view. Thorfinn frowned, sitting up too and putting his hand on the middle of her bared back when she drew her knees up to her chest and pressed her forehead to them, breathing heavily like she might lose control. Thorfinn frowned worriedly, rubbing soft circles over her back and trying to comfort her, though it was far from his forte.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked after they sat in silence for several long minutes, listening to her slowly getting control of her rapid breathing.

"We died," she breathed into her knees. "During the battle. We died, but we had a daughter and she was there, and she watched us die…"

Thorfinn's heart constricted inside his chest and he frowned as he watched her trying to control herself. The very thought unsettled him more than he'd like and Thorfinn knew that no matter how much he despised having a Soul Match at all, and despised even more that it was this pain-in-the-arse witch who'd been driving him spare since well before she had any right to, he didn't want to lose her.

He didn't want to die, either.

"Don't suppose there's any Seer blood in your family?" he asked, not thinking.

She snorted, turning her head on her knees to reveal that her eyes were wet.

"I'm muggleborn," she reminded him quietly and Thorfinn could've slapped himself on the forehead.

Of course she was, and as such, she had no idea what kind of magical abilities might be specific to her bloodline. Depending on who you asked, she was the first of a new strain of magic blood within the magical world, or alternatively, a terribly thin link to a very old one.

"Right," Thorfinn muttered. "Forgot."

She wrinkled her brow at him and Thorfinn could tell she was trying to figure out if he was being serious that he really had managed to forget, despite his own ingrained blood prejudices, or if he was just saying so to make her trust him. He wondered if there would ever come a day when she might look at him without searching for some ulterior motive behind his every action and every word. He hoped he would live to see it, though if she had any prophetic abilities, they might be well and truly buggered. Then again, they hardly had a daughter and weren't likely to manage one in the next couple of days before the battle.

"A daughter, you said?" he asked when she didn't say anything, just continued to peer at him like she wasn't sure what to make of him.

"Mmmm," Hermione hummed quietly. "She had your coloring and my nose."

"And she was watching us die?" Thorfinn frowned.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, look pensive. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Thorfinn shook his head.

"It's fine, Princess," he assured her. "Rather you wake me with your tossing and turning, than to see you keep suffering in a nightmare. Better to be woken by a nightmare than to wake up and find you gone, you know?"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" she asked, looking indulgent and exasperated at the same time.

"You ditched me the morning after you married me," he pointed out. "No way I'm letting that one go. In fact, feel free to start trying to make it up to me."

"You're dreaming," she rolled her eyes. "And we weren't willingly married. It hardly even counts. We had kinky sex in the woods. I never agreed to marry you."

"Bullshit," he said. "You wanted it as much as I did."

"Wanting sex and wanting to be bound in holy matrimony are two very different things, Rowle," she reminded him.

"Not on a Witch Hunt night, they're not," he replied. "You're my lawfully wedded wife and you will be until the day you die."

"With luck, that will be soon," she retorted coolly.

"Don't even say it," Thorfinn growled. "That's not funny, Princess. Just got you back. I don't want to lose you."

"Whatever," Hermione huffed, flopping back down on the mattress. "If we die, we die."

"Tell that to the tears you're crying at the thought of never getting to meet our daughter," Thorfinn answered snidely, curling his arm around her midriff and tucking her body back against his.

"Shut up," Hermione said.

Thorfinn emitted a low chuckle as he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck.

"Want to get started on conceiving her?" he asked huskily.

Hermione hummed, tilting her head to give him better access as he trailed wet, soft kisses over her throat and across her shoulder. She rolled her hips against the growing lead pipe poking at her bottom, encouraging him to thrust his hips against her, reminding her of their nudity. God, would there ever be a day when this intensity between them lessened? Already, at just the suggestion, she wanted him again.

"That feels good," Hermione told him, rolling her hips again when he nipped her shoulder lightly before kissing away the sting.

"God, I need to be inside you, Princess," Thorfinn muttered against her skin.

"So do it," she said, canting her hips and reaching between her legs to take him in hand.

He drew in a sharp breath, letting her guide him to her entrance before he pushed home, sinking himself inside of her and making Hermione's breath catch inside her chest.

"Mmmm," she hummed contentedly at the feel of him so deep inside her. There was nothing like it. She couldn't explain it. It didn't just feel like regular sex to have him inside her. This felt different. More, somehow.

She blamed the Soul Match between them, but it did really feel like he'd been made just for her.

"Fuck," Thorfinn muttered into her hair. "You're so fucking warm, Princess. Feels like home when I'm inside you. Feels like forever."

Hermione moaned in agreement, interlacing her fingers with his and rolling her hips, finding a rhythm with him as he began to thrust his hips, holding her so close, completely enveloping her in his warmth and his strength. The feel of him moving inside her banished the bad feelings left over from her nightmare and she couldn't help thinking that even though the last thing she wanted right now was kids, she wouldn't mind so much if they _were_ conceiving the daughter she'd dreamed of with his bright blue were and vibrant blonde hair.

Her body was so attuned to his touch that it didn't take long at all before she slipped over the edge and into bliss, moaning his name as she went. He bit her shoulder again lightly as he followed her, groaning quietly and burying himself deep inside her as he came, his essence washing into her warmly.

"Could stay inside you forever," Thorfinn muttered, settling against her back without releasing her body, still snuggled deep within her.

"Can if you want to," Hermione told him sleepily, knowing there was no one else for her anymore.

The Witch Hunt had confirmed that. He was her Soul Match, no matter how barmy he might make her, and the ceremony guaranteed that no other man could touch her. She wasn't counting Alecto or Antonin, despite knowing they could each touch her if they wanted. They didn't feel like Thorfinn did. They didn't have a history with her like Thorfinn did. They weren't her Soul Match. They weren't her husband.

"Going to," Thorfinn told her sleepily. "Never going to let you go, Princess. 'Till death do us part."


End file.
